


With You

by rotg5311



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Himbo Din Djarin, Loss of Virginity, M/M, ManDadlorian, Mandalorian Creed, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sad Din Djarin, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Unrequited Love, Unsuspecting love, Virgin Din Djarin, Yearning, din missing grogu, mayfeld being unproblematic for a change, very experienced migs mayfeld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotg5311/pseuds/rotg5311
Summary: Din is heartbroken over losing Grogu. Mayfeld can't stop thinking about the man behind the Mandalorian mask. The two of them keep running into each other until one way or another they actively seek it out.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 166
Kudos: 537
Collections: Movies





	1. The Run In

**Author's Note:**

> due to no one giving me the content i so desperately need, I will be making it myself. This is going to be a slow build with some fluff, sexual tension, and eventual smut.

The sun caressed the tiny patch of uncovered skin on his neck like an old unwanted friend. It was hot, it was dry, and it was more than likely going to burn his delicately pale skin. Still, Mayfeld knew it was preferable to the alternative, being locked up in a dusty, dank, metallic prison yard for the next 50 odd years, assuming he lived long enough to finish out that sentence. If he wasn’t trying to stay so far off the radar he might have picked a more reasonable planet. Maybe something with warm sunny beaches or cool summer breezes or even something of the jungle variety minus the danger just to have something pretty to look at. But as things stood now any planet with a small population that didn’t need his real name would suffice, even if it was covered in sand and dust and increasingly stupid townsfolk.

He took a few steps forward attempting to shuffle through the crowd. There may not be that many people in town however they all seemed to be right there in front of him for some reason. Mayfeld rolled his eyes under his sungoggles and took a wide step to the right, bypassing the sluggish creature in front of him. He debated saying something rude and snarky, but decided against it. Either they didn’t speak the same language and his tone of voice would start an argument, or they did speak the same language and his comment would start a brawl. He was supposed to be staying out of trouble. And as hard as that would be he was determined to follow through with it. A glisten of metal caught his eye. He turned toward it, not quite realizing what he was seeing at first.

“Mando?” He called out after he decided it wasn’t a mirage.

The Mandalorian in front of him turned to the crowd, searching for the voice, eventually landing on the only unmoving body in the fray. They stared at each other for a while, Mando quizzically peering at him and Mayfeld being jostled by the crowd as he waited for the other man to make a move. When someone bumped into him hard enough to jolt him forward Mayfeld leaned into it, letting the force propel him into motion.

He approached the Mandalorian, who eyed him with caution, one hand near his blaster. Mayfeld looked down at himself and let out a silent chuckle. He was covered in head to toe, hat, dark goggles, and face wrap to keep out the sand included. No wonder Mando was acting like he was facing a stranger. In his eyes he was. He pulled his glasses up and mask down to flash a smile and an eyebrow wiggle.

“Mayfeld?” Mando said, giving him a once over.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Mayfeld said in a hushed tone, simultaneously stepping closer to the man and looking around for wandering ears. “Don’t call me that here. There’s not a lot of Mayfeld’s in the Galaxy and I’m trying to lay low.”

“Alright.” Mando said, looking around as well. Then in a softer voice he added, “Migs.”

“Better.” Mayfeld brushed it off, though he was surprised Mando remembered. No one called him Migs, not even his Momma when she had been alive. “What brings you round here?”

A long pause.

“Are you here to arrest me?” Mayfeld took a step back automatically. “You’re gunna kill me.”

“I have business here.” Mando reassured him, shaking his head lightly. The sun bounce off his helmet and flickered across Mayfeld’s clothes. “As for you… Well, I hear you’re already dead. I wasn’t expecting to run into any ghosts on my trip.”

Relief flooded through him pushing out all the tension he didn’t even realize was there. Mando had more than enough reason to lock him back up or worse and Mayfeld couldn’t blame him if he had a change of heart. But if this free ride was still going, he was determined to take it to the end of the line.

“Luckily for you I know just about everyone and everything here. What can I help you find?”

Mando looked him over once more before scanning the crowd again. After a while he sighed and began talking. Soft, low, and to the point. Mayfeld wouldn’t expect anything less.

“You’re in luck. I’m headed that way anyways.” Mayfeld told him, beginning to lead the way. Then it hit him in a flash. “Hey, Mando, uh, where’s the Kid?”

Mando tensed beside him. When no explanation came Mayfeld assumed the worst. “Oh man, I’m sorr-“

“No.” Mando cut him off. There was something in his voice that Mayfeld couldn’t place. He didn’t like it though. “He’s with his kind now.”

“Oh.” It should’ve been relieving. The Child was alive. So why did Mando sound like he had lost him forever anyways? “Wait, you’re telling me there’s more little green guys running around?”

“Not exactly.” Mando’s soft chuckle felt like an absolute win, despite not knowing why.

“Someone more suitable for his needs?” Mayfeld asked in the least offensive way possible.

“I hope.” Something in Mando seemed ready to break and Mayfeld wasn’t ready to see it. He decided to drop the subject.

“I’m sure the little guy’s gunna be just fine. Cuz if not then they’re gunna have to hear from you, and believe me no one wants that kind of heat. But for now drinks are on me.”

“Mayf- Migs, I can’t-”

“Yeah, yeah you can’t take off the helmet. I’ll get you something bottled for the road. Come on.”

The walk was silent. Or as silent as it could get with Mayfeld around. He had a habit of talking more than most people could handle. When it was quiet, when he was uncomfortable, when he was bored, and everything in between. Even the voice in his head had something to say at all hours of the day. At least Mando didn’t seem to mind like he normally did, though Mayfeld could tell he wasn’t really listening. There was still something about The Kid that occupied his entire being and Mayfeld itched to know what it was. Not that he could ask him. It was a good way to end up thrown through a wall or left high and dry at the very least. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was kind of enjoying the company. Even if said company was moody, broody, and silent.

The most surprising thing of all was that Mando let Mayfeld accompany him all the way to the meet up spot of his unnamed contact. He wasn’t exactly sure what the Mandalorian was up to or why he wouldn’t tell him more, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t illegal. Though maybe it was. Mayfeld couldn’t know for sure, and he didn’t really want to. He had spent a long time on this shitty planet to keep himself out of Prison and he didn’t plan on doing anything to compromise that. With a final goodbye Mayfeld reminded Mando he’d be at the bar should he want a drink after. It wasn’t a offer he thought the man would take up, though he wished he would. It would be nice to have a little company for once.

It would be even nicer to have some company as nice looking as Mando. The thought had Mayfeld feeling uneasy and queasy. He felt so guilty for having thoughts like that, though he couldn’t stop them. Seeing Mando’s face was an invasion of privacy, something forcefully taken, and very high up oh his list of regrets. It was wrong. But that didn’t stop Mayfeld from thinking of the soft rounded face, the warm brown eyes, and the unruly fluffy hair sitting just beneath an impenetrable layer of Beskar. Mayfeld thought about it on days when he let his mind wander, honing in on all the wrong he had done in his life. He thought about it on nights when he had just a little bit too much to drink and stared at the liquid in the bottle that was the same honey brown as those frightened eyes. Sometimes he even thought about it in his dreams, when he was yearning for a warm body to writhe beneath his. 

Yes, Mayfeld thought about the man behind the Mandalorian armor more than he’d like and maybe that’s what had him glancing at the doorway every few minutes. Realistically he knew Mando would never show up. He couldn’t drink in public, and the two of them weren’t exactly best friends. Mando had no reason to show up and meet him and Mayfeld knew it. So when a glimmer of familiar armor entered the swinging doorway Mayfeld’s jaw nearly hit the ground. It took about five seconds for Mando to spot him propped against a wall in a corner. It wasn’t his usual seat, but he had taken it anyways in hopes that Mando would actually show up. Quiet, secluded, and far away from any prying eyes. And all eyes were prying. Faces turned up and stared in fear and awe at the Mandalorian who sauntered through the bar, taking the seat directly opposite him.

“Mando, you showed up!” Mayfeld said in an overly enthusiastic voice. It was enough to make himself cringe, though he tried not to show it. He needed to relax. Another big sip of his drink should help.

“You invited me.” The statement sounded more like a question than anything, like he was wondering now if he had misunderstood.

“Yeah but I didn’t think you’d show up.” He told the other man truthfully before the situation could devolve. “Does this mean you’re going to have a few drinks with me?”

Mayfeld flashed him his best smile knowing Mando would still turn him down. Him and his stupid Creed. But a promise was a promise and Mayfeld was ready to buy him as many drinks for the road as he’d like.

“One.” The voice had been so low that for a second he thought he must have imagined it.

“Wait really?” He asked, though he was already waving the bartender down and signaling for two more drinks. It had been shocking to say the least, but why fight a miracle? Mando just nodded curtly.

The bartender placed the drinks down in front of them and Mayfeld threw down the money, never taking his eyes off the man before him. A sort of morbid curiosity had taken over him, leaving him feeling shaky and light. Was he really going to take the helmet off here in front of all these people? Had Mayfeld really broken him back on Morak? It felt like a kick in the gut and he hated it. He shouldn’t feel sorry for the Mandalorians and their silly Creed. But he did, and as guilty as he felt there was also a tinge of excitement welling up inside him. Was Mando really going to take off his helmet again?

One gloved hand grabbed the drink and the other grabbed the bottom of his helmet. Mayfeld stared with growing anticipation. In a perfectly timed movement Mando lifted the helmet just enough to take a sip of his drink, then covered himself again. It was practically nothing. In fact Mayfeld had only seen the lower portion of his face for a few seconds, if that. Still, the image of soft, plump lips wrapped around the glass seared into his brain. Mayfeld had a feeling he’d be thinking about those lips in his dreams in the next few weeks to come and it had his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now was it?” His voice flowed out of its own volition like it always did when he was uncomfortable. “And no one can even see you all the way back here.”

Mando looked over his shoulder at the other patrons who had thankfully returned to their own business by now. No one in the bar could see those soft pink lips but Mayfeld. It had him feeling oddly tingly.

The conversation flowed more easily with every sip Mando took. In fact, Mayfeld hadn’t heard the man talk this much before, even though most of his replies were ‘yes, no, I’ve never been there.’ And stuff of the sort. Still, Mayfeld was hooked on every word. It didn’t help that he was trying his hardest to picture those pink lips forming the words. He wished Mando would just take off the helmet and talk to him, give him a smile, maybe even a kiss or two. But if stealing glances every time Mando lifted the helmet slightly for a sip was the best Mayfeld was going to get then he would savor every second of it.

One drink turned to two, which surprisingly turned to three. Mayfeld had been ready to quit long before, but as long as Mando was still willing to drink then he would, too. He couldn’t risk cutting their time together short because he was afraid of a little hangover. He may not be a fresh young pup anymore, but he could handle himself just fine. A hangover sounded like a problem for future Mayfeld.

When Mando finally said he had to leave, Mayfeld felt his heart sink. Still, he plastered a smile to his face and offered to walk Mando back to his ship. It was on the way to his home anyways. Or at least that’s the excuse he used. Mando didn’t need to know just how far out of his way Mayfeld was willing to travel to spend a few extra minutes together. He couldn’t help himself though. Intelligent conversations were far and few in between on this planet. Plus he felt oddly indebted to the man for essentially forcing him to break his strange Mandalorian code of not showing his face. Regrets had been so far and few in between before Mayfeld’s stint in Prison for a multitude of reasons. But being locked up gave him more than enough time to think. And now all he had was time to think. If he didn’t know better he would say it was making him soft.

“Is this yours?” Mayfeld asked as they approached a shabby run down ship. It looked more or less like two equally crappy ships badly patched together to make a barely mobile abomination. “What happened to the Crest?”

“Moff Gideon happened.” Mando’s voice was strained.

“No!” Mayfeld clutched at his own heart dramatically. “I may have said otherwise before, but that was a really nice Ship.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Mando.” He said stepping closer to inspect the new ship more thoroughly. “This is a hunk-a-junk.”

“I know.” Mando agreed in a softer tone. The slight slump of his shoulders had Mayfeld feeling bad once more. He lost his Son and his Home? Tough break.

“Listen, if you ever want a real bed to sleep in I’ve got a spare.” Mayfeld made a point of not looking the taller man in the face as he spoke. “My place may not be much but, uh, it’s better than this.”

“Migs-” Mando said, already adapted to using Mayfeld’s first name despite the lack of people around to overhear.

“Yeah, you gotta get going. I get it. But, you know-” Mayfeld felt his throat tighten. He hadn’t meant to offer it, yet here he was. “If you’re ever in the area, the invitation’s always open.”

“Thank you.”

Mayfeld watched the Mandalorian slip away into his new monster of a ship before he turned around and headed back to town. He snuck one last glance at the sky as the Ship flew away, knowing it would be the last time he saw that familiar Mandalorian armor and the man who inhabited it.


	2. The Surprise

It wasn’t until several weeks later that Mayfeld proved himself wrong. The day had started out normal enough, dressing in layers of breathable clothes to protect his skin from the Planet’s harsh Suns, gearing up for a few hours of scavenging and selling, and even taking a few extra minutes to stop and fix the shutter that had been loose and creaky for the past week. His place was definitely a fixer upper, but he was slowly chipping away at the list of things that needed to be done. It was a balance between work and sleep, but Mayfeld spent most of his downtime doing odd chores. He hadn’t been lying when he told Mando that his Home was better than that abomination of a Ship, though he might have played it up a little more than it deserved. Oh well.

Around these parts, the earlier you started the easier the day went. Mayfeld had learned that fairly fast when the heat of two suns bared down on his exposed skin at the peak of high noon leaving him red and raw for days. The sooner to start the sooner to finish. And if he finished soon enough there was always the chance of picking up an odd job here and there to make a little extra cash. Mayfeld was getting by just fine as it was, but a little extra money for drinks always helped. Especially at night when the nightmares became too much and the only thing that let him sleep was blacking out.

Come quitting time Mayfeld was achy and sore, thinking of a nice cold shower, his soft bed, and a big drink to take the edge off. In fact, he was so preoccupied with his plans of relaxation that he nearly missed the hulking object he walked past from the junkyard on the way into town. A large mismatched ship parked far enough out that no one would dare go near it, but close enough for Mayfeld to see no one was home. Mando’s Ship. He knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. What was he doing back here so soon? Mayfeld altered his path, heading for the bar instead. It was a long shot, but it was the most central part of town. Maybe Mando would be there. Or pass by at the very least.

He stepped into the bar, looking around. It was more packed than usual, which was expected for the day. That’s why he had planned on going home for a drink instead. His eyes flitted over each table, searching. Eventually he landed on the shiny Beskar helmet at the same table they had sat together at before. The man sat with his head leaned back against the wall, an untouched drink in front of him. As soon as he noticed Mayfeld he stood up and moved to the seat directly opposite, mirroring their arrangements from before.

“Long time no see.” Mayfeld said, plopping himself down in the newly empty seat. Before he could flag down the bartender Mando was sliding the drink toward him. “For me?”

“Drinks are on me this time.” Mando shrugged.

“That only works when you’re drinking, too.” Mayfeld told him. Still, he grabbed the glass and drained half of it in one gulp. “Unless you’re just trying to get me drunk.”

“I don’t drink alone.” Mando told him before signaling for two more drinks. “Besides, they wouldn’t let me hold the table for much longer without buying something.”

“Waiting a long time?” Mayfeld tried not to look too interested. Mando had waited here for him specifically?

“I didn’t know where else to find you.” He admitted.

“Well lucky for you I saw your trash heap out front. I’m not always down at the bar.” Mayfeld finished his drink in time for the next round. “Don’t want you getting the wrong impression of me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mando told him before taking a sip of his own drink. As if on instinct Mayfeld’s eyes flashed down to those lips, savoring the brief flash of stubble along a rounded chin.

“So what can I do for you?” Mayfeld stripped off his clunky outer layers, doing his best to relax. It wasn’t easy with the hustle and bustle of the packed bar.

“I need a place to lay low for a few days.” Mando told him, tilting his head down toward the drink in his hand. “And last time you said-”

“I know what I said. Offer still stands.” Mayfeld said in a calm voice. It was the exact opposite of the turmoil going on inside of him. Mando wanted to stay with him? For a few days? What kind of heat was he packing to even consider Mayfeld’s offer? “As long as you don’t get my place blown to bits.”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“And no crazy ex-girlfriends threatening to stab me either.” Mayfeld teased. The image of Xi’an trying to bust down his door rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

“I can assure you that won’t be the case.”

“Alright. But you think we can take this back to my place?” He tipped the glass back all the way, downing the rest of the drink in one gulp. “I may not seem it, but I’m not exactly a people person.”

Mando looked at him for a second before following suit with his own drink. The helmet rose up slightly more than before revealing the tip of his nose and even more facial hair. Clearly it had been awhile since Mando shaved, but it looked nice. Or at least Mayfeld thought it did. He didn’t get a long enough look to be sure, but his mind was doing more than enough to fill in the missing pieces. Scruffy, rough, rugged, maybe even a little sexy.

“Don’t worry, I got more than enough to keep us busy for a while.” Mayfeld said with a shake to his empty glass. It was true. He probably had a larger selection of alcohol in his house than they did at the bar. It should be sad, but sometimes it was the only thing that kept him going. 

It was about halfway home when Mayfeld realized his mistake. Unfortunately, Mando did too. “I thought you said you lived on the way to the ShipYard.”

“No I didn’t.” His stomach did a little flip at being caught. Awkward. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

He could feel the shifty side eyes on him, but didn’t look up. Thankfully Mando let the subject drop. What else could Mayfeld say? ‘I was lonely and didn’t want you to leave?’ That would be the fastest way to make things even more uncomfortable between them. Instead he talked about the people in town. All the idiots, the morons, the scumbags, and the petty thieves. Maybe Mando would be able to put two and two together on his own without Mayfeld spelling it out for him.

“It’s gotta be the Suns frying their brains, because all of them are like that.” It was his best theory at the moment. How else could an entire town be scraping the bottom of the barrel in the intelligence department?

“Maybe it’s in the water.” Mando offered.

“Don’t say that! I drink this water, too.” It was enough to make him worry, but he didn’t feel that much different than when he had arrived on this little shithole Planet. “But if I start acting like that, you let me know.”

He gestured to a Reptilian type man wandering in the late afternoon sun. It slowly stumbled down the opposite end of the street with his head up to the sky. A soft sound fell from his lips in no language Mayfeld had ever heard.

“You have my word.”

Mayfeld smirked beneath his face wrap. It had been a joke obviously, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. Besides, it’s not like he planned on going looney in the next couple of days. After that it wasn’t Mando’s problem anymore.

As they arrived at Mayfeld’s house he found himself silently wishing he had done a little more to fix the place up. Sure it was presentable, and a lot nicer than his previous living quarters had been. But, this was his first time having company over and he had a strange urge to impress.

“It ain’t much. But it’s a lot roomier than that flying trash can of yours.” Mayfeld reminded him as they crossed the threshold. He was glad he cleaned up a little that morning. Empty bottles and dirty dishes didn’t exactly scream sophistication. “Come on I’ll show you your room.”

The second room, while smaller than his own was probably the cleanest place in the house. In the beginning Mayfeld had fixed it up as best he could in hopes of landing a roommate. Then he found out what weirdos all these people were and that with a little extra work he could scrape by on his own. The room sat untouched and practically forgotten since. He was glad he didn’t throw the bed away.

“I’ll grab you some blankets.” He nodded to the barren bed. “Then I’m hopping in the shower. I know the polite thing would be to let you go first but I’ve been kicking it in the heat all day and it would be impolite to make you smell me for any longer. Besides, I haven’t fixed the hot water yet so there is none. You want a shower, it’s gunna be cold either way.”

“Fine by me.” Mando told him, throwing his knapsack on the bedside table. Rather than see what Mandalorians carry around for weekend get aways, Mayfeld fetched some clean sheets and blankets and even an extra pillow. Then he headed for his much needed shower.

The water seemed colder than usual, though he wasn’t sure if that’s because he was thinking about the inadequacies of housing guests or if he had actually managed to get a sunburn through his clothing. He had tried out a new shirt that was so thin and breathable he was surprised it wasn’t see through and was hoping he wouldn’t come to regret it. Or maybe the icy cold had to do with the fact that Mayfeld was feeling unusually flustered. His body felt warm and tense and the cold shower he had so desperately craved an hour ago wasn’t helping at all.

He moved fast, cleaning himself thoroughly. Unfortunately with the brutal heat during the day cold showers were preferable to warm ones, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them. Usually he was in and out in no time, but tonight he lingered, standing just outside the spray of the water when the chill became too much. Mayfeld did his best to prolong the inevitable. Eventually he was going to have to leave the shower and face Mando. And what then? Were they supposed to talk? Stay separated in their rooms and ignore each other? There was no frame of reference for him on the matter. He supposed he should start with dinner, it was around that time. Except he didn’t have much lying around for a meal. It was never a problem before since it was always just him.

When the chill finally became too much Mayfeld stepped out and dried himself off. He dressed in the clean baggy pants and shirt he had brought in with him and then placed a clean towel next to the shower in case Mando decided to bathe after all. Would he want to? Is that something he’d be comfortable with? Was any of this something either of them should be comfortable with?

“Washroom’s all yours if you need it.” Mayfeld called out as he headed to the kitchen. After a few moments he heard the door open and then close followed by running water.   
Mayfeld used the time alone to scrape together enough food to be considered a dinner for two. Bantha jerky, bread, and a little bit of mixed fruit. It wasn’t much, but he’s had worse. Mixed with a couple drinks it should be fine. He could go to the market for something more suitable in the morning.

He heard the door open behind him with a creak. Sooner or later he was going to have to fix that, but never really thought about it until now. Living alone meant he never really had to close doors for anything. He grabbed two glasses and turned around, nearly dropping them in the process when he was greeted by a set of beautiful brown eyes and fluffy wet hair.


	3. The Man Behind the Mask

“Woah, hey, what are you doing?” The words fell from his mouth in a jumble. The odd urge to cover his own eyes came over him, and Mayfeld might have were he not holding a couple of drinks. Instead his eyes glued themselves to the very confused, very bare Mandalorian face before him. “Where’s your helmet?”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I can-” Mando began, taking one step backward in the process.

“Me? I’m more worried about you! I thought you weren’t allowed to take that thing off. The Mandalorian Creed or whatever.” Mayfeld’s heart hammered in his chest as he studied Mando’s face. He looked about as surprised as Mayfeld felt.

“The Creed has been broken.” Mando’s sad eyes reached his own and Mayfeld’s stomach did a flip. He really did break him back on Morak. “Besides, you’ve seen my face before.”

“No I haven’t.” He lied. On Morak Mayfeld had said it to give Mando some peace of mind. If he himself hadn’t been such a coward in the first place the helmet never would have had to come off. Trying to forget the face that was unwillingly shown was the least Mayfeld could do. Except as it turned out it was a nearly impossible task.

“Good intentions can’t unbreak the Creed.” Mando stepped forward, locking eyes once more. He grabbed one of the drinks from Mayfeld’s hand, letting their fingers brush together. It was only the barest hint of contact, yet it had him feeling tingly all over. “This is the Way.”

Mando brought the glass to his lips and drank. With nothing else to do Mayfeld followed suit, drinking a lot more in the process. He was feeling all sorts of ways at the moment, guilty, confused, surprised, and maybe even slightly horny. The best way to get rid of that was to drink. It rarely ever failed him in the past.

He watched as Mando leaned on the cabinet opposite him. Arms folded, drink in hand. The man looked much more lean without his armor and Mayfeld found himself wishing the Mandalorian’s clothes weren’t so tight. Black on black, but it looked good. Hell, Mayfeld wore enough black himself that it could be considered his favorite color. Maybe it was, now that he thought about it. It certainly looked good on the man before him. His only saving grace was the long sleeve shirt. If Mando had shown off those muscular arms Mayfeld might be tempted to do something stupid. He took another drink.

Wet hair pushed messily into place sat on top of Mando’s head just begging to be touched. The scruffy facial hair, which had definitely not been trimmed in some time outlined very kissable lips. Big, soft brown eyes scanned the room, landing on Mayfeld every now and then. He noticed that every time he caught those eyes looking at him they would bounce to something else just as fast. Maybe it was a helmet thing that made Mando so uncomfortable with eye contact. It was almost comical just how soft the man under the impenetrable armor actually was.

“Besides, I’ve found other Mandalorian,” Mando continued with his unfiltered voice. Mayfeld never realized just how much the helmet had been changing the sound. It was soft and crisp and clear now. The sound had always appealed to him before, even upon their first meeting, but now? Well, he was going to have to think of amazing conversation starters just to get Brown Eyes talking. “They take their helmets off, they show their faces. They’re happy to live this way.”

“And you’re not?’ Mayfeld asked. Mando didn’t look very happy, even with the armor on. Something about him just seemed so sad and lonely, even more so than usual. He figured it had something to do with the Kid. Had he been struggling with his Religion as well? Or way of life? He still wasn’t entirely sure of the whole Mandalorian thing. It was another kick to the gut for forcing him to take off the helmet in the first place to see him so broken over it.

“I’m managing. I haven’t shown my face since I was a child. The Way of the Mandalore is all I know. Unlearning it can be conflicting. But it…” His low voice trailed off, oozing with sadness. Sad eyes, sad face, sad posture. Mando sure knew how to bring a room down.

“But it lets you put that armor back on every day in peace?” Mayfeld guessed.

“Something like that.” A small smile had Mayfeld’s heart doing something strange and fluttery. He wanted to see it again, purely for comparison purposes.

“Well I’ll drink to that.” He used it as an excuse to finish the rest of his drink and pour another one. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, decades of over drinking had raised his alcohol tolerance significantly. He was approaching the line of making things more comfortable without risking doing something dangerously stupid like kissing those pink lips he kept looking at. “I wasn’t expecting company, so you’ll have to settle for a little bit of Bantha jerky and bread.”

“I’ve had worse.” Mando told him with another barely there smile as he looked down at the plate placed on the table before them. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Not over this. I’ll stop at the market in the morning and pick up some real food. Believe it or not I’m actually a really decent cook.” He had learned from the best chef in the Imperial Army. It had been one of the biggest benefits of sleeping around with whoever wanted company for the night. Or in that case several nights a week for months on end. If Mayfeld had been a sentimental man he might have even said they were dating. But sentiments had no place in the Empire, and even less place in his field of work. Still, it was a skill he greatly appreciated almost every day since.

“You don’t have to do that.” Mando told him, though he was tearing through his dinner at a faster pace than Mayfeld. When’s the last time he ate? Or maybe he just had a higher metabolism? Mando was bigger and stronger than him, he must need to eat more, too.

“Of course I do. You’re my guest. What’s a sleepover without food? We’ll stay up late, talk about boys, eat snacks, braid each others hair.” He watched as brown eyes flicked to his bald head. Not quite bald anymore. It had been some time since he got around to shaving it and he was long over due. But the peach fuzz there was in no shape for any kind of styling. “You call me bald and we’re gunna have a problem.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Mando smirked again and Mayfeld found himself taking another drink to hide his own smile. Who would have thought he’d be sitting in his own home having a domestic meal with a Mandalorian? Not him. Though he couldn’t say he hated it.

“I gotta cut it soon anyways. You look like you could use a shave, too.” He gestured to the scraggly beard Mando had begun growing. He didn’t hate it, in fact it looked just as good as the light stubble had looked. But he couldn’t help point out Mando’s appearance, because it’s the only thing he had on his mind.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied.” Mando’s eyebrows knitted together. No doubt it was the same issue that was forcing Mando to hide out in the one place in the Galaxy he was least likely to be found. On some backwater Planet with and enemy. Ex enemy? Surely they weren’t enemies anymore, Mayfeld no longer felt the urge to tear the man down with harsh words and inconsiderate actions, and Mando didn’t seem to harbor any kind of hate toward him at the moment. But did that make them friends? Not quite. Acquaintances? Perhaps. Whatever it was, Mayfeld was enjoying it more than he cared to admit.

“Looks good anyways. Makes you look older.” Mayfeld said, instantly regretting it. If Mando thought it was as awkward as Mayfeld did, he didn’t show it. “How old are you anyways?”

Not as old as Mayfeld, surely. Though it was hard to pinpoint an accurate age. Those Brown Eyes seemed so old in a way that just didn’t reach the rest of Mando’s body and mannerisms. They were the eyes of a man who had gone through too much but still kept on kicking.

“I’m not sure.” Mando told him, with an almost nostalgic facade. “Time worked differently in the Covert. They took me in as a child and I’ve been with them for decades.”

“Huh.” Mayfeld nodded. The more he heard of the Mandalorians, the more they sounded like a Cult. Not that he would say that to Mando, who still held them in such high regards. “There’s no one you can ask? They should keep tabs on the kids they collect.”

“My Covert was slain.” Mando’s eyes dropped to the table and Mayfeld felt his heart sink with them. Such an expressive face. He must have never learned to hide his facial expressions with the helmet on. Though it made sense. Why hide something no one can see? Except now Mayfeld wished he would. It was making him feel things he would rather not. “Just myself and the Armorer remain.”

“So ask him.” It was simple enough math.

“I wouldn’t know where to find her. Besides… I can never go back. I’ve shown my face.” He finished his drink, holding it out for a refill. Mayfeld obliged in a hurry. If things were going to get depressing, there might as well be copious amounts of alcohol involved. “This is the Way.”

Mayfeld’s stomach churned again. Mando lost his home, his people, his ship, his son, his way of life. Was there anything he did still have? The broken spirit before him said no.  
“Well at least you have these new Mandalorians, right?” He tried his best to flip the mood. Blue was not good on Mando.

“It’s complicated.” He sighed. Another drink.

“Usually is.” Mayfeld agreed. Lots of things were complicated in life. Though sometimes the best things could be complicated, too. The mix of emotions inside him intensified as he looked at those sad brown eyes before him. Complicated, indeed.


	4. The Appreciation

Mayfeld was up, finished shopping, and out the door once more before Mando even awoke. He wrapped up a plate of food for the Man to eat when he awoke, scribble a note about leaving for work, and was gone for the day. It was strange as he would have guessed Mando was the early to rise kind of person. But the soft little snore he heard from behind the closed door said otherwise. Oh well, they did stay up pretty late the night before. They talked about nothing in particular, though they did drink a lot. Mayfeld more than Mando, but that could be expected. He was feeling things he didn’t want to and tried to drown it out. Hopefully it would work.

The day passed as slowly as possible. Hard labor, hot sun, infuriating people that got in his way more than helped. By the time quitting time rolled around he was hot and bothered and not in a good way. The walk home was long and brutal, his feet hurt, his muscles ached, he wanted to crawl into bed and not wake up for a week. But instead he put on a happy face as he walked through the door. Mando had been so sad last night, the least Mayfeld could do was pretend to be happy. Except no one was home.

He walked through the house, looking. Mando’s bag still sat in the room, closed but full. Clearly he hadn’t left. So where was he? In town? Doing what? Mayfeld shrugged it off. He’d be back or he wouldn’t. Either way it wasn’t his problem. The only thing he wanted to do was clean up so he could lay in bed without tracking in a layer of dust and dirt.

He entered the washroom and stripped off his shirt. Then as an afterthought he closed the door behind him in case Mando decided to show up soon. As much as he had thought about the two of them naked together he didn’t want it to happen like this. Next he took off his pants and then paused, replaying the last minute in his head. He walked back to the door, opening and closing it again. The distinct lack of a creak had Mayfeld quirking an eyebrow and swing the door back and forth again in rapid succession. He looked at the hinge and saw the barest hint of oil slathered in the crevasses. Someone oiled his door? Or more accurately Mando oiled his door?

“Huh.” He said for lack of anything better. Mayfeld wondered what in the Galaxy had possessed Mando to fix his door for him, but couldn’t complain. It needed to be fixed after all. He’d thank him for it later.

Mayfeld turned on the water and waited. It would never get warm until he fixed the water heater, and when did he ever have time for that? Plus he had put it off for so long because he wasn’t even sure he knew how to fix a water heater. But still, cold and slightly less cold made all the difference in the world and he’d wait for the second option for the few minutes it normally took. Then he saw the steam. Slowly at first, barely there, tendrils of steam rose from where the water hit the drain. Mayfeld stared in curiosity at the phenomenon, wondering what exactly was happening. He stuck a hand into the running water and pulled it back out immediately.

“Ow!” He said to himself loudly. That water was hot. Really hot. Not just ‘less cold’ like he had grown accustomed to, but genuinely heated. Mayfeld turned the knob in the other direction, placing his hand back in the stream to adjust the temperature. When it was eventually deemed fit he climbed in and groaned at the sensation of warm water down his back. It had been so long that he almost forgot how good a hot shower could be. While cold showers had been adequate to cool down the heat from the day, they weren’t always enjoyable. Tension flowed out with every drop of water pelting his flesh.

It wasn’t until he was showered, dried, and dressed that Mayfeld actually stopped to think about what had happened. Not only did Mando fix his creaky door, but he had solved his warm water problem, too. Why? Not that Mayfeld wasn’t grateful, because he was. He was so grateful for the warm shower that for the first time in forever he considered the prospect of taking a bath as well, which was something he hadn’t done in years. Not now, he decided. That was something he’d save until he had his house back to himself. A shuffling noise from the hallway grabbed his attention. He swung the door open only to come face to face with a full set of Mandalorian armor.

“Hey, Mando.” Mayfeld greeted him with a tiny wave, then inwardly berated himself for it. Don’t be weird, play it cool.

“Migs, you’re back.” Even in the privacy of Mayfeld’s home Mando was still respecting his decision to not be called by his last name. It was unnecessary, but appreciated. His stomach even twisted a little because of it. Mando side stepped to let him out of the washroom. They stood in the hall like that for a minute, neither of them saying anything.

“Did you fix my shower?”

“It was the least I could do.” Mando’s voice was short and curt and Mayfeld found himself wondering what that face looked like underneath. The voice wasn’t always easy to read, but those beautiful brown eyes were. If only he’d take off the helmet again.

“Oh and I guess the door was just for fun?” Mayfeld couldn’t help but smile. Mando was technically a guest in his home, he shouldn’t be fixing things. Though it was greatly appreciated. “You do anything else while I was gone? Am I gunna find mints on the pillows and flowers on the counter?”

“I replaced the lighting fixture in the sitting room and took out the trash.” Mando shrugged. 

“Oh is that all?” Mayfeld shook his head as he walked into the kitchen. It seemed wrong for Mando to be doing all this for him. “Well thank you. I’ve been trying to fix this place up since I got it. I just don’t have a lot of free time.”

“Like I said, it’s the least I can do. I can start on the kitchen tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with the kitchen?” He spun around, facing the Mandalorian, who had followed him into said kitchen only to lean on the counter once more.

“The cabinets wobble, one has a missing door, you blew a fuse, there’s a section of flooring that needs to be replaced.” He replied, one arm propped onto the counter, the other hand on his hip that jutted out slightly. It was hard to call a killing machine like Mando sassy, but it was the only word he could think of in the moment.

“Yeah, yeah. I live in squalor. I get it. Kick a man while he’s down. Now go take that tin can of yours off if you want to eat. I’m hungry now so I’m cooking.”

“Tin can?” Mando tilted his head to the side, adding to the sassy facade. Mayfeld tried his hardest to keep a straight face.

“Do you want to argue or do you want to eat?” Mayfeld lifted his hands up, exaggerating the question as dramatically as he could. Mando stared at him for a second longer before turning and disappearing down the hall. “That’s what I thought.”

Mayfeld took his time with the meal, putting in extra care to make it as good as it could be. He felt a little funny for trying to show off this way, but it was the least he could do to thank Mando for fixing things up around there. After a while he heard soft footsteps enter the room and only paused for a moment to grab the Man a drink. Brown eyes met his own holding the gaze for far longer than usual, making him feel flushed all over. He placed the drink down and turned back around to finish preparing their meal.

He could feel eyes on him the entire time. Maybe he was just imagining it, but something told him otherwise. Mando had a habit of looking when he thought Mayfeld wasn’t. He should talk about something, anything to get his mind off it, but couldn’t. For once his mind was blank. Or at least blank of things he could actually discuss with the man at the table behind him, considering all the things he was thinking of involved said man in varying stages of undress.

“It smells delicious.” Mando finally broke the silence. Just like that Mayfeld got his gift of gab back.

“Oh yeah? Good. I made a lot, so I hope you’re hungry.” Accidentally on purpose that is. Mando was fit and lean and looked amazing. But Mayfeld could tell by the way he scarfed down food that there were days when he didn’t get enough to eat. Today wasn’t going to be one of those days. A little extra weight would do him good. The man would probably just turn it into muscle anyways. “So, uh, what else did you do today, Brown Eyes?”

It slipped out, honestly it had. The nickname seemed so intimate and personal that Mayfeld almost felt guilty for using it. But then he saw bright brown eyes flick up to his accompanied by that same soft smile Mando had when he first heard the name and it had Mayfeld wanting to call him that again and again.

“I had some business in town.” Again with the secrecy. It should have bothered Mayfeld, but it didn’t. He was just enjoying the company. Even if that company had the potential of getting Mayfeld in trouble and locked back up.

“Is that right?” Was his only reply before starting in on his own day. It was strange to have someone’s undivided attention like that, but he decided he liked it. Mando clung to every word, nodding at appropriate times and laughing at others.

Mayfeld refrained from over drinking during dinner. Instead he just watched Mando with growing curiosity. Every smile was like a breath of fresh air, every sarcastic remark got a smile from Mayfeld in return. Without the armor Mando was just a soft, funny guy that Mayfeld was growing undeniably attracted to. It was a dangerous game he knew, but one he was willing to play. What was the harm in yearning? Really, the only one who stood chance of getting hurt was himself and that was a risk Mayfeld was willing to take.


	5. The Goodbye

“You’re leaving?” Mayfeld said on the morning of Mando’s fourth day. It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement. Mando sat at the table with his knapsack by his feet, fully suited up. This was a goodbye. At least he had waited for Mayfeld to wake up rather than just sneak off without a word.

“I received a transmission late last night. I’m needed.” Mando told him, once again withholding details. Not that it mattered. Mayfeld knew he was bound to leave eventually, and if he had been truthful Mando stayed a lot longer than anticipated. Still, longer would have been better.

“I’ll walk you to your ship. I’m headed that way anyways.” Mayfeld lied again, though this time he wouldn’t be going so far out of his way.

“You sure about that?” Mando asked as if he already knew the answer. Instead of replying Mayfeld just grabbed him some food for the road. A little fruit, a little bread. It wasn’t much but it would be filling and last long should he not get around to it right away.

They walked in silence most of the way. Mayfeld wasn’t sure what to say, but as he was beginning to realize he didn’t mind the silence when it was with Mando. It was peaceful, relaxing. He didn’t always have to hold up the conversation alone to make things more comfortable between them. It was nice. He’d miss it.

“So I guess this is it.” Mayfeld finally said as they approached the ShipYard.

“I guess it is.” Mando replied, slowing his pace to a stop. They stood watching each other for a moment and Mayfeld tried to soak up every detail. He wished Mando would take the helmet off one last time, though he knew that face would be burned into his mind for a long, long time anyways. 

“Listen, thanks again for fixing everything up for me.” Apparently more things in his home were in some state of disrepair than Mayfeld originally realized. Mando was good at finding them and even better at patching them back together. There was still work to be done, however a big portion of the list had been knocked off in his short time being there.

“Don’t worry about it.” Mando replied. “Least I could do, remember?”

“Yeah. Good luck with… whatever you got goin on.” He told him as he nudged his arm gently with one fist. “Door’s always open if you need it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” The man said, looking at Mayfeld for a long time like he wanted to say more. When he didn’t Mayfeld gave him a wave and turned around, headed for another long day of a job he couldn’t stand. From a distance he watched the mismatched ship squeal to life and fly away, wondering if he would be seeing Mando again anytime soon. Part of him said no, why would he? Mando’s stay had been a necessary tactic, one he probably wouldn’t need again, or at least not any time soon. It was foolish to think they would cross paths again so similarly. But another part of Mayfeld hoped he was wrong. Three days hadn’t been long enough, he craved more.

It had been some of the three best days of his life if he was being honest with himself. Having Mando around was better than he could have ever imagined. Yes the company was nice, he was sure it would be nice with anyone with a brain in their head. But Mando? It was so much more than that and he had a hard time wrapping his head around it. Mayfeld couldn’t find the words to describe what he was feeling, all he knew was he wanted Mando to come back. Their time together had grown on him and he wished it had the similar effect on Mando as well. Maybe that would bring him back to Mayfeld.

It wasn’t until over a month later Mayfeld’s wish came true. A soft knock on the door had him tilting his head from his place on the couch, listening. It had been one of those nights where he was looking for reassurance from the bottom of a bottle, only to find several bottles didn’t hold the answers he needed. With that much alcohol in him he wasn’t sure if he had truly heard a knock or just imagined it. Then it came again, a little louder this time. He set his glass down with a loud thunk, unable to control his fine motor movements, then stumbled down the hall toward the door. If he hadn’t been so drunk he might have stopped for one of the blasters he kept hidden around his house. Under his pillow, stuck to the bottom of the kitchen table, behind a tile in the hall, every room had one. No one came knocking on his doors, especially not so late at night. It would do him good to have a little caution. Instead Mayfeld whipped the door open only to come face to face with an all too familiar Mandalorian he convinced himself he’d seen the last of.

Without a word Mayfeld took a step to the side, opening the door wider for Mando to come inside. The man stepped over the threshold, looking at Mayfeld. No doubt he looked as shitty as he felt. Mando could probably tell just how far gone he was. But that didn’t stop Mayfeld from stumbling back to the couch and grabbing the half empty bottle off the floor. Mando said something, which Mayfeld ignored. Come morning he wouldn’t remember the words themselves but the tone in which they had been said. Mando seemed disappointed, worried even. Or that’s what Mayfeld’s drunken brain told him. Eventually Mando headed in the direction of the room he had stayed in last time, which was exactly the way he had left it, nicely made bed and all. If anyone asked he would have told them he didn’t have time to change the sheets and clean up the room. Though Mando had left it spotless, so cleaning wouldn’t be necessary anyways. In reality Mayfeld didn’t touch the room in hopes Mando would come back. It was sad and pathetic but he was beyond caring.

The next morning Mayfeld woke up with a throb in his head and an ache in his back. He looked down at himself and groaned. Apparently he had fallen asleep on the couch in an odd position and knew it would be days before his body felt right again. He was far too old to be doing this shit. Still, that wouldn’t stop him. It never did. With another groan he pulled himself off the couch, trying to ease his aching back into the movement. Stretching helped, if only a little.

The harsh sun shined through the front window blinding him. Mayfeld squinted all the way over to the curtain and shut it, turning the room slightly more pleasant in his eyes. It was way past starting time and he knew he’d be taking the day off. Even if he had woken up earlier he knew he wouldn’t be able to get anything done with the ache in his head. He pulled out the chair to the table and all but threw himself in it. He needed some water, he needed a nap, and he needed to check and see if he had any meds laying around that would help with the pounding just behind his eyeballs and across the left side of his forehead.

A creak, a scuffle, and soft footsteps caught his attention. Without hesitating Mayfeld pulled the blaster from beneath the table and aimed, finger hesitating on the trigger. Shocked brown eyes met his own and Mayfeld stared on in confusion. Slowly the events of the night before trickled back to him. He would have chalked it up to a drunken hallucination were it not for the man standing before him as proof.

“Forgot you were here.” He said, finally lowering the blaster. He got a glimpse of soft brown hair shaking in what he could only assumed was disappointment before he was hiding his head in his hands to stave off the waves of nausea and pain.

“So you were going to shoot me?” Mando’s voice floated around the kitchen. It was hard to tell exactly what he was doing, but Mayfeld heard cabinets and glasses and water running.

“Told you there’s freaks in town. Don’t wanna get touched in my sleep.” He replied half truthfully. By these freaks? No. By Mando? Well he’d thought about it from time to time.

“Drink.” The sound of a glass hitting the table had Mayfeld peaking one eye out from behind his fingers. Water. Without hesitation he grabbed it, drank it all and handed it back to Mando for a refill. The man obliged and Mayfeld repeated the action, feeling the cold water flow through his body like a breath of fresh air. It wouldn’t cure him, but it would definitely help. “What did you do?”

“Drink too much?” Mayfeld offered, unsure of what answer the other man was looking for. It was kind of obvious, wasn’t it?

Soft hands grabbed at either side of Mayfeld’s face, tilting it up to look into worried brown eyes. Closer than they had ever been, Mayfeld stared at the furrowed brows and slight frown mere inches away feeling his heart drop into his stomach. What was Mando doing? And why did Mayfeld have to fight the urge to lean forward to press a soft kiss to those lips so close to his.

“You hit your head.” Mando concluded after his initial inspection. When he let go Mayfeld almost chased after his hands with his head, craving that touch more than ever. Then the hands were back with a wet cloth, dabbing and blotting at Mayfeld’s forehead. Fire tore through the area, but he held still and let it happen, too afraid that if he pulled away Mando would stop what he was doing. He shut his eyes and remained neutral, trying his best not to give away just how flustered he was becoming. “It wasn’t like that last night. Do you have any bacta laying around?”

“In the hallway closet I think.” If he had any left thats where it would be. Truth was that bacta was very hard to come by, especially around here, and Mayfeld had a habit of hurting himself more often than not, especially when he drank too much.

Mando was only gone for a few seconds, which was simultaneously too long and not long enough. Mayfeld needed a few minutes to himself to calm the slamming of his heart and the new tingling on his skin where Mando’s hands had gently rubbed along his face. Then he was back, with a small packet in his hand. He leaned against the table, practically sitting on it to hover above Mayfeld’s body. Close, so close. He could reach out and touch him, and as badly as Mayfeld wanted to, he didn’t. Instead he just watched as Mando applied some of the thick gel to his fingertips, then reached out to smear it across Mayfeld’s forehead. The effect was immediate. A dull tingling radiated through his forehead, already going to work on patching him back up. With the amount of tingling Mayfeld could tell he had really done a number to himself, though he had no recollection of falling and injuring himself. Unfortunately the bacta blocked the feel of Mando’s soft fingers on his skin. It was heart breaking, but with everything else going on around him Mayfeld was sure he’d manage.

The frown hadn’t once left Mando’s face, though his eyes did seem to lighten a little bit. Being in such close proximity, Mayfeld shouldn’t be doing something as stupid as looking into the Galaxy’s most mesmorizing brown eyes. But there he was, willing himself not to do anything stupid like lean forward for a kiss, or call him beautiful. Thankfully he refrained, though he couldn’t help but shiver when the fingers on his forehead trailed down to rest under his chin. Mando grabbed his face lightly again, tilting and turning it to make sure there was nothing else that needed to be fixed.

“Better.” He murmured, keeping his hand in place for a few seconds more before finally letting it drop. Neither of them moved away. They may not have been touching anymore, but that didn’t make it any easier for Mayfeld to breathe. “How much did you drink?”

“Too much. I already told you that.”

“Why?” The question was innocent enough, but the concern on his face had Mayfeld’s stomach flipping once more.

“We all need to sleep at night.” Mayfeld repeated the words he had once spoken to Mando before. It had been such an emotional day for him, for the both of them. Blowing up the refinery had helped him sleep for a time. But old wounds always had a way of resurfacing, and Mayfeld dealt with them in the only way he knew how. Drink and forget. He looked down, avoiding those big brown eyes that held such raw emotions. It wasn’t something he could handle at the moment. Mayfeld was feeling raw, too.

“Migs-” Mando started, cutting himself off. After a moment he said. “Be careful next time.”

“You have my word, Brown Eyes.” Mayfeld said, remembering Mando’s words. Maybe he had been trying to make a joke of the situation, he wasn’t entirely sure. The conversation had him feeling all sorts of ways he didn’t understand. A firm hand clapped down on his shoulder once, lingering for a few seconds. Then Mando was gone, pulling away from the table, leaving Mayfeld wondering what he had done to be treated like that at all. It was a kindness he didn’t deserve, but one he wanted to earn again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments fuel me to write. Thanks for being such babes, Y'all.


	6. The Visitor

They fell into the routine easily. In fact Mayfeld didn’t even realize it at first because it was so irregular, but surely enough the pattern was there. Every few weeks Mando would arrive on his doorstep without warning or explanation and stay for two or three days at a time. Every time it happened Mayfeld would welcome him with open arms, figuratively speaking unfortunately, and a smile on his face. And every time Mando left it tore Mayfeld apart just a little bit more. Still, he said nothing. How could he? If he questioned it he might chase the man away. If he asked Mando to stay he might never come back. It was a lose lose situation no matter how he looked at it. So Mayfeld just grinned and bared it.

Besides, it wasn’t all bad. He got to spend time with Mando afterall. It was comfortable. It was domestic. It was everything Mayfeld needed. Mostly. There were nights he would lay in bed, pent up from days of Mando invading his personal space, which had been happening more and more lately. It was like that one simple act of tending to Mayfeld’s wounds had opened a flood gate. Lingering touches, accidental bumps, somehow or another ending up close enough to kiss. Each time Mayfeld’s heart would slam in his chest, thinking of just going for it, but chickening out at the last second. Maybe it was just a Mandalorian thing. Maybe Mando didn’t even realize what he was doing to Mayfeld. But it was driving him crazy. Day dreams, wet dreams, and an abundance of masturbation fuel. He found it becoming increasingly difficult to not slam Mando up against the kitchen counter and kiss those pretty, perfect lips. He was slowly going crazy but wouldn’t change it for the world.

On Mando’s off days, which is what Mayfeld had begun calling the time they spent apart, he spent his nights at the bar. He had taken to drinking less when Mando was around for many reasons. When Mando wasn’t around he made no such promise to himself and just went with the flow. Some nights he would stumble home from the bar feeling tipsy but fine. Other nights he would end up on the couch or the floor with empty bottles at his feet and fallen soldiers on his mind. It was a hit or miss with how he was feeling day by day. 

In fact one of the only sure fire ways to stave off the nightmares seemed to be Mando. They were less frequent and less volatile with him in the house. It was a rare occurrence for his nightmare to wake up Mando in the other room, but it had happened twice. Both times he had awoken in a sweat, heart hammering and adrenaline pumping, automatically reaching for the blaster beneath his pillow. A soft knock on the door had him nearly jumping out of his skin until he heard the soft “Migs?” that followed. They moved to the couch, Mayfeld dodging questions and Mando using the excuse of not being able to sleep. It was a lie. In the dim candlelight Mayfeld could see the tiredness in those brown eyes and knew he had woken Mando up. Still, he appreciated the company. Eventually he began talking about his days in the Imperial Army, which Mando listened to intently, until he heard soft snores next to him. Mayfeld watched the sleeping form next to him with interest. Mando looked so peaceful in his sleep, mouth slightly open, muscles relaxed. When the sensation of being a creep finally took hold Mayfeld leaned against the opposite end of the couch, crossed his arms over his chest, and shut his eyes in hopes of getting back to sleep. When he woke up in the morning Mando was gone, and neither of them brought it up again. That didn’t stop the process from happening once more three weeks later when Mayfeld had a nightmare even worse than the first.

This off day was harder than usual and the bar practically called his name. Mando had been gone for weeks on end and Mayfeld was beginning to wonder whether or not he’d be back. That was usually where his mind ended up if too much time had passed in between visits. It was the kind of day that he knew he wouldn’t be remembering in the morning with the plans he had for the night. His eyes automatically flashed to the back corner of the bar searching for Mando. It was empty of course. Mayfeld sighed, letting his shoulders slump just a little. He uncovered his face, glad to be free of the layers that protected him from unwieldy sand. He took two steps toward an empty table when he felt a firm hand grab his arm. Dark eyes, dark hair, and an attitude he wanted to be a million miles away from. Cara Dune.

“Hey Firecracker.” Mayfeld greeted her feeling his blood go cold. “You finally change your mind about taking me in?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Sit down.” She released his arm, nodding toward the empty seat across from her. He did, weighing his options. He couldn’t shoot his way out, he didn’t usually bring a blaster with him for fear of getting in trouble. He definitely couldn’t fight his way out. Sure, Mayfeld was fit and had even gained a little more muscle from working all day every day for months on end. But Cara was built like a tank, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He scanned the room looking for a distraction, anything that could help when Cara interrupted his thoughts. “Relax, it was a joke. I’m not here for you.”

“Uh huh. Then you don’t mind if I leave?” Mayfeld rose from his seat only to fall back immediately when Cara shot him a warning glare. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m not here for you, I’m here for answers.” She rolled her eyes. Mayfeld remained quiet, unwilling to give anything away without provocation. Not that there was anything to give away. He had gone through great lengths to not get caught up in anything that would get him locked up again. Sadly, it seemed to be coming around to bite him in the ass anyways. After a moment of silence she added, “I thought you were supposed to be chatty.”

“Well you tell me what you want to hear and maybe I’ll have an answer for you.” Mayfeld was being far too standoffish but he couldn’t help it. The urge to bolt was too strong for him to even try and relax.

“Fine. Why is Mando here?” She gave him an odd look. Clearly she knew more than she was letting on, yet Mayfeld couldn’t help but play stupid. Better to give away too little information than too much.

“Mando? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I’m not stupid. Why is he here?” Cara asked again, leaning back in her seat. Mayfeld stared, weighing his options again. “Lets say for arguments sake I know a lot more than you think I do and if you don’t start telling the truth I can make your life a lot worse.”

“He left a few weeks back. Haven’t seen him since.” It was the truth, though Mayfeld hated to admit it. He hated admitting it to Cara of all people even more. Still, she had the power to lock him up and that’s something he needed to avoid. 

“He’s waiting at your house for you.” Mayfeld’s eyes shot to hers revealing more than he would have liked if her grin was anything to go by. “That’s got your attention.”

“Why wouldn’t it? It’s my house.”

“Figured you’d be used to it by now. The locals say he’s over there all the time, only speaks to you.” Cara smiled again making Mayfeld’s skin crawl. It felt like a trap, he just wasn’t sure how. It was hard to play a game when you didn’t know the rules.

“And what of it?’ Mayfeld shrugged again. If Cara had already spoken to people around town then she already had the answers she needed. He just wasn’t sure what the question was.

“Nothing, I guess. I was just wondering why he wont let anyone within three parsecs of this shithole Planet.” She told him, carefully gauging his reaction. Mayfeld was determined not to show his interest in the statement. 

“He’s been laying low. Shirking off some heat from time to time. I wouldn’t want anyone near my hide out either.” He told her, letting the cogs in his head turn. Mando was keeping people away? Who? Why?

“Is that what he told you?” Her laugh had several heads turning their way. He didn’t get the joke.

“Alright, wiseguy. You tell me what you think is happening then.” Mayfeld could feel himself getting riled up. He felt like he was on the butt end of a joke that he couldn’t see coming from a mile away. It was a horrible end to be on.

“It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. I just thought I’d come here and see his Mistress for myself.” Cara sent him a wink that had Mayfeld’s heart skipping a beat out of shock. Mistress? Was Mayfeld the mistress in this situation?

“Mistress? And who’s the other Woman? You?” He could feel himself bristle at the thought. Thinking of every interaction he had seen between Mando and Cara, none of it had ever seemed particularly romantic. Still, he didn’t like it.

“Don’t make me laugh.” She chuckled at him. “Mando and I aren’t like that.”

“Well neither are we.” Unfortunately. Cara said nothing, just picking him apart for the truth with narrow, scrutinizing eyes.

“Figures. You’re both a couple of idiots.”

“Hey!” He objected. Sure, Mayfeld was an idiot from time to time but that didn’t mean someone else could call him one. And she definitely wasn’t allowed to call Mando one.

“If you don’t believe me then just let him know I stopped by. See what happens.” She said with one last smirk before she was up and out of the bar leaving Mayfeld behind feeling more confused than ever. An abundance of questions swirled through his mind and while Mayfeld knew he should ignore them, he was up and out the door right behind her.


	7. The Truth

Mayfeld said nothing of the interaction. Not when he arrived home to find Mando waiting for him as Cara promised. Not after he cleaned up and changed into a simple shirt and pants that Mando had never seen before but seemed extra interested in now. Not as they stood side by side at the counter chopping, seasoning, and cooking dinner. Not even when they sat down to eat and Mando was giving him his undivided attention to listen about his day. Mayfeld said nothing about Cara because how could he? Just thinking about it had him breaking out in a sweat. How would Mando react? Would he not care at all? Maybe Cara was yanking Mayfeld’s chains. He’d deserve it anyways. Or would Mando react in a way that confirmed what Mayfeld thought Cara was talking about? He pushed the food on his plate around a little, not feeling all that hungry. Eventually he swapped his nearly full plate out for the empty one across from him. Mando picked up his fork and began eating. The sheer amount of food this man could put away might have been funny were it not for Mayfeld’s current state. His mind was going a mile a minute and he was no closer to an answer than he had been earlier.

“What’s wrong?” Mando finally asked, a slight frown on his face. Mayfeld hated it. He loved Mando’s smile and wanted to see it all day everyday.

“Oh. Nothin’.” He watched the man before him open his mouth to say something else and made a split decision to just go for it. If he didn’t say something now then he never would, and Mayfeld wasn’t fine with not knowing “I ran into someone today.”

“Oh?” Mando’s voice was cautious, calculated, and interested. Like he was running through a list of people in his head of who Mayfeld could have met and none of them were ideal.

“Yeah, a buddy of yours. Cara .”

The mood in the room changed suddenly. Mando stiffened, letting his eyes roam over Mayfeld’s entire body, the frown intensifying as his eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you ok? Did she hurt you?” Mando asked, checking Mayfeld once more. It had Mayfeld’s heart pounding. Huh. That was certainly… odd. Concern wasn’t a look he wanted Mando to wear, but he’d be damned if it didn’t make him feel a little tingly.  
“Me? You’re not worried about her?” His joke landed flat as Mando’s worried face turned slightly more toward exasperated. “I’m fine. All we did was talk. She, uh, followed you here.”

“Dank Farrik!” The outburst was quiet but still unexpected. Mayfeld watched on, feeling the pieces fall into place. Very odd indeed. Maybe Cara was onto something after all. 

“She also said something about you not needing to lay low.” Or she hinted to it at least. He hoped he was right. It was the closest he had been to actual answers and Mayfeld was itching for the truth.

“I-” Mando started, eyes flickering away from Mayfeld’s. The barest hint of red stained his cheeks making Mayfeld’s heart flutter. He didn’t even know Mandalorian’s could blush. But it was a damn good look and suddenly he was thinking of a lot more things that would bring on red cheeks like that. 

“Hey, I never asked for excuses. I said the door was always open if you need a place to stay. Still is, Mando.” Probably always will be. Not that he felt brave enough to say it in the moment. The tips of his fingers tingled with anticipation. Maybe Cara was right. Maybe Mayfeld’s feelings weren’t just one sided. Still, he couldn’t imagine testing it any further and wished Mando would make the next move.

“Don’t call me that.” The Mandalorian before him said after a while.

“Alright, Brown Eyes. You got a name you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” Mayfeld gestured to the empty room, quirking an eyebrow. His voice was unusually steady considering just how shaky he felt. He stood up to clear the table, afraid that if he didn’t keep busy he might do something he’d regret later.

“Din Djarin.” The voice behind him was soft, delicate, like he was whispering a secret that few knew about. Mayfeld supposed he was. He had never heard Mando’s name before. In fact he wasn’t even sure if Mandalorians used them, though he knew they must call each other something other than ‘Mando.’

“Well ok, Din Djarin. It’s nice to meet you.” He turned around, holding out a hand for Din to shake as if meeting for the first time. For a moment Din stared at it, uncomprehending. Then, brown eyes met Mayfeld’s and Din was shaking his hand with a soft smile. The contact was electric and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to touch more than just Din’s hand. His fluffy hair, his scruffy beard, the little hint of collar bone that Din’s shirt didn’t quite cover. “There it is.”

“What?” Din asked, not breaking eye contact. 

“That smile.” He answered truthfully feeling his throat constrict slightly at the admission. Brown eyes bore into him and Mayfeld caved. He turned back to the sink, piling dishes inside to avoid admitting something he couldn’t take back. Unfortunately Din followed suit, standing side by side with him as they had done many nights before. It was something that he had grown to enjoy. Now he would rather be anywhere else. 

“I’m not even sure what it looks like.” The admission had Mayfeld shocked but not surprised.

“Mandalorian’s don’t own mirrors?” Of course they didn’t. Why would they? It would be the normal thing to do. Still, the fact that Din had never seen himself smile felt wrong. It was such a beautiful sight, missing out on it would be a sin.

“There was never a need. If no one can see your face it doesn’t matter what you look like.” A shrug, a sigh. Perhaps Din was beginning to realize how strange the Mandalorians had been. Or maybe he was missing his Covert again. It was a toss up of the two, and with the lost of his Son and his Ship Din seemed upset about one thing or another more often than not. That’s why Mayfeld loved seeing him smile. It was a rare treat.

“So you didn’t even know if you were ugly or not? That’s insane.” Mayfeld said, watching the sink fill with water. Maybe if he didn’t look at Din the tension between them would go away. Unlikely, but worth a shot. “You were so intent on keeping that helmet on that I thought you would’ve been ugly, but-”

The words slipped out before he could fully think them through. The tingling in his fingers intensified as his heart rate increased. He had essentially admitted his attraction to Din straight to his face. Well, not quite to his face, he was still avoiding looking at Din directly out of fear of rejection. Now that feeling increased tenfold as Mayfeld felt Din shift beside him.

“So I’m not?” The voice was soft, gentle. Mayfeld contemplated a joke. Maybe he could play it off, it wouldn’t be hard. But something in the other man’s voice made it seem like Din really didn’t know just how beautiful he was. And that just wasn’t right. How could someone look that good and not even know it? He took a deep breath and turned to look at Din.

“With Brown Eyes like that how could you be?”

All the air sucked out of the room with his words. Mayfeld waited, judging Din’s face for a reaction. Big brown eyes locked onto his as if searching for something as well. A light flush to his cheeks. Slightly parted lips as Din sucked in a rush of air. An electric charge hovered between them as an eon passed by. Then Mayfeld was pulling Din forward by the shirt and kissing him.

For a horrible moment nothing happened. Stiff, unmoving lips met his and Mayfeld’s stomach swirled in panic wondering how he had managed to misread the situation that badly. He was pulling away, already formulating and apology in his mind when a hand grabbed the side of his face and pulled him back. Slowly, hesitantly Din kissed him back, as if testing the waters. Mayfeld melted into the touch, kissing back slowly but firmly. He wanted this. Clearly Din did, too.

Every kiss brought on a new wave of pleasure and Mayfeld was riding the high. It was soft and sensual and more than he could have hoped for every time he had imagined this moment. He kept his kisses light, mirroring Din’s gentleness. Of course he would have no problem slamming the other man into the counter and ravaging him then and there, but something told him Din was more of the ‘slow and steady wins the race’ kind of guy. If he wanted to take things slow then Mayfeld had no objections. This simple kiss was more than he thought he’d ever get.

With reluctancy and no air supply left, Mayfeld finally pulled away. Din was breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. It was enough to send a tingle of pleasure straight to Mayfeld’s crotch. His mind raced with something, anything to say, but before he could Din was pulling him back in for more.


	8. The Ache

“You’re leaving?” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. It was by no means a question, yet Mayfeld still had to ask. He stared at the man before him wondering how to make the ache in his chest disappear. “Look, if it’s because of what happened last night-”

“Please don’t think that.” Din’s voice cut him off, sounding strained and muffled under the helmet. Mayfeld would kill to see his face, to read those oddly expressive brown eyes. Eyes never lied.

“Well what am I supposed to think?” He asked, bypassing Din in order to go about his day as usual. He rummaged for things in the kitchen, making a point of not looking at the other man. Images of the previous night flooded his mind. Kiss after kiss til they were both flushed and out of breath. Mayfeld wanting more but sensing Din wasn’t ready for that and backing off. Going about their night like everything was normal, like everything was fine but somehow even better. Apparently Mayfeld had been mistaken.

“Cara came for a reason. She needs me.”

“Yeah.” So do I. Mayfeld couldn’t say it, but he knew it hung in the air regardless.

“Migs…” Din sounded so broken that for a second Mayfeld turned to him, needing to ease that pain. Then he decided better of it and walked passed Din again, continuing to get what he needed. 

“It’s fine, Mando. Really. She needs you, I get it.” He knew he was being too defensive. He knew he should give Din a chance to explain. Still, the only thing he could think of was just how stupid he was for letting himself get this attached. There was a reason he had only slept around in the past and nothing more.

“I’ll be back. You have my word.”

For a moment Mayfeld considered saying something more. In fact, he had a whole arsenal of words and insults ready to throw Din’s way to tear him down a few pegs. His natural defense mechanism was to hurt people worse than they hurt him. Things were easier that way. But when had anything about Din ever been easy? Things had been messy between them since the moment they met. Why would this be any different?

“I know.” It was the truth. As upset as Mayfeld was over Din leaving so suddenly he knew he’d be back. Unfortunately he didn’t know when, and since Din neglected to give him a time frame he must not know either. Answers would have been nice, but he knew there were none. Din may not be in trouble with anything but there was definitely something big going on in his life that he was intent on keeping well hidden. 

They stood there for a moment, facing each other in silent contemplation. Then Din was removing his helmet, revealing sad brown eyes. It hurt to see, though it did make him feel slightly better knowing he wasn’t the only one upset over the recent turn of events. Din pulled him close, squeezing him tight but kissing him gently. Again Mayfeld melted into the kiss letting all the pent up anger seep out of him. Clearly if Din was still kissing him then the kiss wasn’t the problem. It made things slightly more bearable.  
The kiss was long, slow, passionate. Still, it had Mayfeld’s heart racing and his cheeks flushing. Din pulled away slightly and rested their foreheads together. Mayfeld said nothing, just listening to the soft sounds of breathing. They stayed that way for a time, enjoying the peacefulness of it all. But nothing lasts forever and they both had places to be.

The walk to the ShipYard was quiet. Not their average peaceful quiet either. The dim morning light cast a melancholy shadow on the mismatched buildings in the town, reminding Mayfeld that he had just made this trip not so long ago. Now Din was already going again. Always going.   
A gloved hand brushed the back of his own and for a moment he thought of pulling away. Then deciding it would be better to enjoy the little time they have together and be hurt once Din was gone, Mayfeld brushed back firmly. The hand reached around, enclosing his own in a light grasp. Mayfeld squeezed back gently. Somehow it made the walk easier.

Too soon Din’s Ship loomed before them like a beacon of despair. He slowed his steps trying to make these next few minutes stretch out even longer. It was time for goodbyes and they both knew it. His brain told him just how silly he was being. Either Din would be back or he wouldn’t, it was no different than any other time. Except it was. That kiss had opened a flood gate of emotions Mayfeld had been holding back for months, and once they were out there was no easy way to contain them again. Not without serious damage to his liver that bacta might not even be able to heal. He had let himself get too attached and now it was time to face the consequences of those actions. It was all worth it for even a second with Din.

“So this is goodbye, I guess.” Mayfeld mumbled. His usual boisterous demeanor nowhere to be found. He had once made fun of Din for being a buzzkill, but now it was his turn to take on that role. Though to be fair Din seemed to mirror the mood as well.

“Only for a little while.” Din reassured him and Mayfeld would be damned if he wasn’t going to hold him to his word. Din was a Mandalorian after all. What were they but people of their word?

He struggled for the words to say. Nothing seemed right. Nothing would make this moment any easier for him. So he said nothing. A kiss would have been nice, though Mayfeld noticed Din only took the helmet off in the privacy of his home. The Creed had already been broken, but Din didn’t willingly let people see his face. Mayfeld didn’t agree, but he knew it helped him cope. So he said nothing then and he said nothing now. He just squeezed that gloved hand one last time, reluctant to let go.

Din pulled him in letting their foreheads rest together once more. Despite the outer layers Mayfeld wore to protect himself from the brutal suns, the beskar helmet was still cool against the contrasted heat of his own body. He shut his eyes, trying to commit the feeling to memory. Something about the action seemed oddly intimate and Mayfeld was willing to bet it was in a Mandalorian way. Maybe he’d ask about it someday, but for now he was content on just enjoying. He knew he’d be thinking about it until Din returned to him. He wasn’t sure how long it would be, but he was willing to wait as long as it took.


	9. The Reunion

“You’re drunk.” The words engulfed him with a twinge of disappointment, though Mayfeld was passed the point of caring. The buzz floating through his body made it hard to care about anything really. Well, besides Din. He was over the moon to see the younger man.

“And you’re back early.” He replied, clinging to the man in front of him. It was true. Three days was all it took for Din to return. It seemed so short in retrospect, but living it in real time had been hell on both his mind and his liver. If he had been gone for weeks on end like usual Mayfeld might have just drank himself to death. Or gotten fired from skipping worse at the very least.

“I said I’d be back.” Din told him, finally letting his hands travel up to rest around Mayfeld’s waist. He shivered at the contact and wished he had waited for the man to remove his armor beforehand. Warm flesh on flesh sounded better than anything at the moment.

“Yeah but you’re always gone for so long.” The beskar cooled his flush skin serving as the only thing grounding him in reality. Din hadn’t been wrong about him being drunk. Mayfeld’s mind swam with thick heavy thoughts. He clutched Mando tighter when his body decided to sway on its own.

“Because I don’t want to over stay my welcome.” The man admitted confusing Mayfeld. Over stay his welcome? Din was always welcome there for as long as he wanted.

“Stop leaving me.” He mumbled to himself more than anything. It sounded like the two of them needed to sit down and have a serious conversation about Din staying there with him. Unfortunately Mayfeld was in no condition to do it then. Hopefully he remembered come morning. The hands on his waist tightened sending another shiver through his body. So possessive. So tight. He nuzzled into Din’s neck, frowning at the beskar in the way.

Mayfeld pulled back just enough to wiggle his hands up to the helmet and pull it off. For a moment he stared into those big brown eyes, letting a handful of emotions wash over him. Then he was crashing his lips down on Din’s, kissing him with so much passion that the two of them were breathless within minutes. The warm tingle in his mind expanded and spread through his body setting every nerve alight. His hands roamed Din’s body, looking for a way to remove the thick layer of beskar that stood in the way of him and his goal. Mayfeld managed to unclip the belt, which fell to the floor with a thud before Din caught on. Before he could even begin to decipher just how the armor was supposed to come on and off Din was reaching up to do it himself. The cape fluttered to the ground followed by the chest piece, vest, and shoulder pads which was placed more gently to the floor. At a glance it all seemed to be one piece. Eventually Mayfeld would have to ask exactly how it attached, but for now he was just glad to see it gone.

His cock throbbed with need, begging to be touched. Mayfeld pulled their bodies together, simultaneously pushing Din against the nearest wall. He pressed his length into Din’s own crotch area and was pleasantly surprised to feel Din’s own hardness pressing back. A light lick to Din’s lower lip had the man opening up, allowing Mayfeld in to explore with an unyielding desire. The slow rut of his hips had them both panting, Mayfeld savoring in the light noises Din made now and again, like he was trying his best to muffle them. That just wouldn’t do.

He ended the kiss with a light suck to Din’s soft pink tongue, then immediately started in on the younger man's neck. Kisses, sucks, nips trailing up and down his neck and ear. Din squirmed, squeezing so tightly to Mayfeld’s hips with his fingers that he was sure there would be bruises in the morning. Not that he minded. The darker the better. Still, Din held back. It was driving him crazy. 

Mayfeld threaded his fingers through those messy brown locks and tugged on the rougher side of gentle, simultaneously biting onto the flesh on the side of Mando’s neck. And like music to his ears Din let out a moan so sensual Mayfeld nearly creamed his pants. Repeating the action had nearly the same effect. He slowed his thrusts, bringing himself back down from the edge.

“Migs, I-I think we should stop.” Din’s voice was husky but strained. Mayfeld halted all movements, thinking. Stop? Why would he want to do that? His mind was foggy with alcohol and lust. Stop? Stop.

He pulled away, eyeing Din with confusion. Those brown eyes were dark with lust, his cheeks were red and flushed, his breath came in rapid, shallow pants. And underneath it all was a hint of hesitation. A nervousness that Mayfeld hadn’t quite seen on him before. Just like that the drunken haze seemed to clear from Mayfeld’s mind, even if only slightly. He was pushing Din too far too fast. With an internal groan he angled himself so their crotches no longer touched, but he could still rest his head on Din’s shoulder. The hands on his waist hadn’t left yet, which he took as a good sign.

“Maybe I am drunk.” He offered up in lieu of an apology. Tomorrow there would be apologies tenfold. For now he just needed to clear his head and focus on anything other than the throbbing in his pants.

“Maybe.” A chuckle. Din wasn’t mad at him. Thank the Maker.

“Come to bed with me.” He blurted out without thinking.

“Migs…”

“No. I need to sleep this off… I’m just not ready to leave you yet.” Silence. His heart slammed in his chest, this time out of nervousness, thinking he had pushed Din too far again. He should have asked, should have given the man an out.

“I need a minute. I need to change.” Din said, sounding a lot less tense. It was a reasonable request considering he still had on thigh pads, gauntlets, and a flight suit.

“Right.” Mayfeld sighed, finally pulling away fully to look at Din. He still looked flustered, and despite feeling bad about putting him in the situation, Mayfeld loved the look.

He turned on his heel and stumbled his way to his bedroom. Drunk indeed considering the floor refused to stay in one place. With a hand on the wall for guidance, Mayfeld finally made it to his bed and flopped down face first. It was the best position to sleep after drinking too much. A fail safe to keep himself from aspirating his own vomit. With heavy eyes and a swirling head Mayfeld hardly noticed the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing a few minutes later. However, the strong arms that wrapped around him made him feel more at home than he had in years.

“I missed you, Brown Eyes.” He mumbled into the pillow.

“I missed you, too.” A soft reply came causing him to smile as he drifted off into unconscious.


	10. The First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys this has been sitting open in a google docs for like a week because i wasnt happy with it. But here it is, satisfying or not.

The kisses, touches, and steamy make out sessions became a near daily occurrence. It would start out slow enough at first, then quickly escalate to the point of both of them being hard and breathless and aching for release. But time and time again Din would shut things down, leaving Mayfeld feeling more blue balled than before. But it was fine. Really, it was. Of course there was nothing he wanted more than to bend Din over the nearest flat surface and fuck him till he screamed Mayfeld’s name. But patience was key, and if he was being honest with himself, this was the most fun he had in years. It was new and exciting, despite the sexual tension between them being thick enough to cut.  
Besides, Mayfeld had never really been the pushy type when it came to sex. There were people who would sleep with him and people who wouldn’t. If one person said no he’d move onto the next with no hard feelings. However now he had no desire to do so, and was just waiting for Din’s no to turn into a yes. It was clearly something they both wanted, Mayfeld just wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant. In fact, Din was hesitant about a lot of things. From light kisses, to making out, to the times when he allowed Mayfeld to get a little more handsy than usual. It was almost like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing. The thought hit Mayfeld hard, pulling conclusions together of its own accord.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He blurted out suddenly. Brown eyes flashed to his, startled at the sudden outburst when only moments before they had been relaxing together on the small couch in his living area.

“I don’t understand, we kiss all the time.” He said as if he already knew where the conversation was going.

“Not me. Have you kissed anyone else? Ever?”

“No. Taking off the helmet is forbidden.” The reminder had Mayfeld reeling. He had been Din’s first kiss? If he had known that before he would have made it better somehow or another. He thought back on the moment remembering the horrible few seconds where Din didn’t respond. Clearly he had been shocked and unsure. It was actually kind of adorable now that Mayfeld wasn’t afraid of unreturned feelings. And then his mind went one step further.

“Wait so… have you ever done… anything?” He asked cautiously, already guessing the answer but not quite believing it. Sex, hand jobs, blow jobs, anything. Sexual situations had no limitations for Mayfeld and he was curious as to just how far Din had ever gone.

“No.” A deep blush spread from Din’s cheeks down his neck. Brown eyes focused on anything but Mayfeld. Din shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I had more important things to focus on.”

Oh. He’s a virgin. Despite suspecting it already the news was still shocking to Mayfeld. Din was an adult and had been for a long time, despite not knowing his age. Had he really never found anyone to bust a quick nut with? It seemed almost cruel for him to miss out that way.

“Not even with Xi’an? I thought the two of you had done it for sure. She was all over you.”

“I can assure you Xi’an’s feelings were one sided. She only wanted what she couldn’t have.” He fidgeted a little more, as if waiting for Mayfeld to say something cruel.

“That sounds like her. But you could’ve asked her to suck you off at least. She’d do it without asking anything in return.” The instant it left his lips he regretted saying it. The thought of anyone besides himself touching Din in that way had him bristling.

“Would you let a Twi’lek do that to you?” Din questioned, making a downward motion near his mouth and baring his teeth. Mayfeld remembered the razor sharp fangs Xi’an prized so much and shuddered. Suddenly he wanted her on one side of the Galaxy and his dick on the other. A little bit of danger and a little bit of pain could be fun in the right hands. But those hands definitely didn’t belong to Xi’an. She was about as crazy as they come.

“Absolutely not.” He shuddered once more before scrubbing the thought permanently from his mind. There were far more important things to focus on. Like the fact that Din had never been with another partner before. It had Mayfeld feeling oddly tingly and excited. “It’s actually kind of hot knowing that I’m your first everything… You know, if you wanted.”

He tacked on the last part as a precaution. No need to assume things that might not happen. Still, the thought of being the first one to make the infamous Mandalorian before him cum was enough to arouse him quickly.

“Yeah…” Din shifted in his seat again, locking his eyes onto Mayfeld’s. There was something there, something interested. He pressed his luck further.

“It’s probably for the best anyways. I’m a lot better at it than Xi’an would ever be.” He shrugged, feigning a calm that didn’t reach his insides. Mayfeld eyed Din to gauge his reaction. Another shift in his seat, a flex of the hands, silence. Mayfeld could practically see the man short circuiting behind those big brown eyes. He pressed further, testing the waters. “Oh what, you don’t believe me?”

“What? I-” Din started, only to be cut off.

“Cuz I’ll prove it to you right now if you want.” Mayfeld shrugged again, being overly cocky and confident. It was the one thing keeping him from shrinking in on himself at the thought of what he just offered. Of course he’d love to suck Mando dry any time any place. But offering it like that? He must be nuts. He was met with silence and thick knitted eyebrows. Finally a small nod.

He could see the rapid rise and fall of Din’s chest, the way he shifted next to him, fists clenched onto his pants. He was nervous. It would have been cute if Mayfeld wasn’t feeling just a little nervous, too. This would be their first time doing anything more than a little heavy petting, and Din’s first time doing anything at all with anyone. There was a lot riding on this. Still, the thought of hot cum spurting down his throat had Mayfeld itching to pounce on the man before him.

He stared into those big brown eyes once more, looking for any signs that Din changed his mind. He was met with an unfamiliar dark glimmer that beckoned him forward. Mayfeld sealed their lips with a kiss, clear on his intent. It didn’t start off slow like usual. He was a man on a mission and wanted to get there before Din changed his mind. He threaded his fingers into thick brown locks and tugged gently. Din gasped, allowing Mayfeld to dart his tongue out in exploration. It was nothing they hadn’t done before, though this time felt different. It was different. He was about to be choking himself on Mandalorian cock. He tugged Din’s hair again, eliciting another soft sound that had him tingling all over. The slow, steady rush of blood downward intensified.

Mayfeld yanked Din’s head back, staring at needy eyes before he moved his attention to the younger man’s neck. He pressed sloppy, needy kisses to the flesh there, enjoying the slight stubble that tickled his lips. A hand came up, squeezing his thigh hesitantly. Again Din seemed unsure of himself, but that was fine. Mayfeld knew more than enough for the two of them. Din was teachable, moldable.

The hand rubbed up his leg, inching closer and closer to Mayfeld’s crotch. He shifted into the touch, encouraging it. Just because it wasn’t well practiced didn’t mean it wasn’t good. Mayfeld let his hand trail down, resting on Din’s hip momentarily before continuing on its journey. He snuck his fingers under the shirt, tentatively feeling the soft skin beneath. When Din didn’t jump out of his skin at the contact he pressed further and began pulling it up and over Din’s head.

Mayfeld stared at the man before him, ingraining the sight to memory. A thick trail of hair peaked out over the hem of Din’s pants, trailing upward slightly to his belly button, which was a small divot in the otherwise flat stomach. Not quite abs but not quite flab. Din was toned, hell he was much stronger than Mayfeld was, but not overly muscly. Smooth chested, littered with scars, and flushed, Din stared at him longingly, this time taking the lead to pull Mayfeld back in. At the last moment he twisted their bodies so Din fell back on the couch laying before him with one leg falling to the floor and the other wedged between the back cushions and Mayfeld himself. He climbed in between those legs, lining up perfectly to hover over Din’s waiting form.

One of the best things by far was Din’s excitability. It took very little to make him hard as Mayfeld had come to find out, though whether that was due to his much younger age or his virginity he wasn’t entirely sure. Now was no exception to the rule and the large bulge tenting the front of Din’s pants had his own cock throbbing. He couldn’t help it. This was hot, and Mayfeld had been waiting a long, long time for this. His hips angled forward, rubbing their clothed erections together, eliciting another soft moan from Din. Mayfeld caught his mouth with a kiss, being decidedly gentler with his administration’s. There was nothing he wanted more than to deep throat Din in one go, but this was a first for him. The least he could do was make it something to remember.

Soft, slow kisses timed with a gentle rutt of his hips had Din practically squirming beneath him. Strong hands ran down Mayfeld’s back landing on his ass, gently kneading the flesh there before helping to grind him downward. With every thrust their cocks rubbed together, sending pleasure radiating all through his body. Din’s breath was coming in shorter, faster succession and Mayfeld realized that maybe the man was getting just a little too close to cumming from the grinding alone. Not that he wouldn’t love to see that, but he had gone into this with other intentions. He nibbled Din’s lower lip before placing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and then his cheek. Slowly Mayfeld made his way down the other man’s neck, kissing a gentle trail down his chest as well, shifting his body down to the floor with every inch downward. Thankfully Din seemed to get the hint and pulled himself up into a seated position as Mayfeld kneeled on the floor between his spread legs.

His knees creaked in protest which he promptly ignored. Maybe Mayfeld was getting too old for this kind of stuff. Next time he’d make sure to get Mando to a nice soft bed before trying to suck him dry. But he could ignore a little pain considering what the prize was. With gentle fingers he reached up and unbuttoned the pants keeping him from his goal. Then in one swift motion he was yanking those pants down as far as they’d go, which ended up being halfway down Din’s thighs. With both underwear and pants out of the way Din’s dick bounced free, eager and ready to play.

Nestled in a thick patch of dark hair, Din’s cock was quite the sight. It was much bigger than Mayfeld had been expecting, but not overly large in an excessive way. It was manageable. It was fun. Mayfeld throbbed in his own pants but chose to ignore it. This was about Din right now, he could take care of himself later. And he would, with this memory locked in his mind.

He looked up at Din taking in his disheveled appearance. Dark eyes, mussed hair, a beautiful flush on his face, lips dark from kissing, a light trail of hickies down his neck where Mayfeld hadn’t even realized he was being overly rough. Slowly he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of Din’s cock. A tiny pearl of precum oozed out, which Mayfeld was quick to lap up, causing the other man to moan. The noise was dangerously addictive and he licked again, this time from base to tip, hoping to hear it again.  
A strong hand came down on his arm, gripping onto him lightly. Maybe it was for balance or for comfort, he wasn’t sure. But when he looked up into those beautiful brown eyes the man looked completely wrecked and Mayfeld was only just beginning. Slowly, and making eye contact the entire time, he let his mouth sink down, engulfing Din’s entire length. The hand on his arm tightened and Din’s hips involuntary thrust up, threatening to choke him. Luckily for Mayfeld he was very experienced with that sort of thing and relaxed his throat, sheathing the cock for a few extra seconds before pulling off slowly and repeating the action.

He built up an agonizingly slow pace, holding Din’s hips down when they began to buck up again. The younger man moaned, letting his head fall back with his eyes squinched shut. Din squeezed his arm a little tighter. Mayfeld released one hand from Din’s hip, bringing it between his own legs and unsheathing his own erection, which had become painfully hard. With every bob of his head he stroked himself in time, building them both up nice and slow. Every gasp and moan falling from Din’s lips, and there were many despite how quiet the man normally was, sent a wave of pleasure through Mayfeld’s body bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Migs. I-” Din’s voice was rougher than usual. It was sexy, and as much as Mayfeld wanted to hear more, he was also enjoying the inability to form complete sentences. He picked up his pace, knowing he might lose his own ability to speak normally with the rough force of his motions. If his throat was a little sore in the morning then it would be a wonderful reminder of this.

Din’s leg twitched, his hips jutting up a little. He was getting close and Mayfeld was, too. He stroked himself faster, focusing in on the slight shake of the thigh beneath his hand. Thick ropes of hot liquid spurted into his mouth, shooting down his throat, filling him up. The moan that accompanied it had Mayfeld shooting off as well, coating his hand and the floor beneath him. He swallowed, ignoring the taste. Cum had never really been his favorite flavor, but that didn’t make sucking dick any less fun. In fact he was already thinking of the best way to get round two.

“Do you need…” Din asked, rubbing a slow circle across Mayfeld’s arm where moments before he had been gripping on for dear life. The question was clear and Mayfeld appreciated it, though it wasn’t necessary. That had been quite the show, and he’d be thinking about it in detail for a long time to come.

“No.” He grimaced down at the new mess coating the floor and wished that maybe he did wait for Din to offer something else in exchange. Next time. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants, attempting to clean himself. “Like I said, that’s really hot.”

“I thought you said ‘kind of’.” Din said, recalling the words. He tugged at Mayfeld’s shirt, pulling him up and onto the couch once more. Mayfeld’s knees creaked in protest once more, though he went with the motion, allowing himself to be pulled into a sort of half cuddle. A gentle hand rubbed soothing circles on his lower back and he melted into the touch.

“That was then, this is now.” A tiny half laugh.

“And later?” The question piqued Mayfeld’s attention immediately. He had more than a few thoughts on what to show Din next.


	11. The Journey

Grogu, Grogu, Grogu. Grogu this and Grogu that and Grogu everything in between. That’s all Mayfeld had heard about for days on end. It started with a little silver ball, one that Mayfeld had seen around a million times before. When Din was stressed or depressed or up late at night he would pull the ball from his pocket and roll it between his fingers for a while. It was always on his person, and after a time Mayfeld finally felt comfortable enough to ask. There was clearly a story there, and not knowing it ate him up. But once he mentioned it the flood gates were open. Grogu. The name was fitting for a tiny green gremlin and Mayfeld loved the gleam in Din’s eyes every time he said it. It was almost as if Din was sharing his most treasured secret. And maybe he was. Mayfeld had only heard Grogu referred to as ‘Kid’ and ‘the Child’. Perhaps he was one of the few people Din had shared the name with. If that was the case he was honored. Even if it wasn’t he was still glad Din was finally opening up to him.

And then the tears came. It had been an average day, nothing special. They milled about their daily routine, which had become so comfortable to him that he could tell immediately something was off.

“What’s up?” He asked Din, who moped about, acting like a big black hole of sadness.

“I miss him.” He said, not for the first time. The tiny silver ball sat in the palm of his hand.

“I know.” It was the only thing Mayfeld could think to say. Of course Din missed Grogu. He lost a child. Something like that wasn’t so easy to get over.

“It’s just… I know he needs to learn his… Jedi stuff.” There was a question in his voice, like Din still didn’t understand it fully. Mayfeld couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t entirely versed in ‘Jedi stuff’ either. “I just wish it was with me.”

A sad smile broke Mayfeld’s heart. He pulled Din in close, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Din may be slightly taller than him, but he seemed so small at that moment. A soft sniffle alerted him to Din’s tears and he squeezed tighter, rubbing softly at the man’s back. They stayed like that for some time, Din crying into Mayfeld’s shoulder and Mayfeld doing his best not to return the action. Seeing Din so vulnerable was a first and it definitely wasn’t easy. He pressed a gentle kiss to the mop of messy hair and vowed to himself to make Din happy one way or another.

Contacting Cara Dune was hard. The only thing more difficult was getting any useful information out of her. She dodged questions, made wild accusations, and constantly reminded him of her strong distrust. Not that Mayfeld could blame her. He deserved everything she threw his way and then some. But when he finally opened up, confiding what he wanted to do and why, she smirked at him knowingly before she finally decided to help.

“Luke Skywalker.” She said. The name rang a vague bell in the back of his head, though he couldn’t remember why. A story from his days in the Imperial Army. As a sharpshooter it wasn’t his job to know anything. All he had to do was aim and shoot, and he had been great at it. Now he wished he paid just a little more attention to other things. Maybe it would help. “Or so they say.”

Tracking down the so-called Luke Skywalker was even more difficult. It was like finding a ghost. As far as anyone could tell him the man was either dead or didn’t exist. Mayfeld was led in circles, chasing a man determined not to be found. But he was nothing if not resourceful.

By the time he managed to track down someone who actually knew what they were talking about Mayfeld was more determined than ever. It took time and money and a great deal of negotiating, but he had a more solid lead than ever before.

He packed a bag, shoving all his worldly belongings inside. Clothes mostly. He had never been overly sentimental. His house could burn down tomorrow and Mayfeld wouldn’t miss a damn thing in it as long as Din made it out safely. Next he packed Din’s belongings, seeing it was mostly the same. A few smaller items made their way in his pack as well, things that Din always brought along. A letter in a language he didn’t recognize, a small sack of colorful pebbles, and a large knife Mayfeld had never seen.

“You’re leaving?” Confusion tainted Din’s voice as he took in the scene before him with a tilted head and raised eyebrows.

“No, we’re leaving.” Mayfeld corrected, handing Din his bag. The man hesitantly took it, eyeing Mayfeld suspiciously.

“We are?”

“That’s what I said. Get dressed.” He gestured to Din’s room. The man no longer slept there, having taken over Mayfeld’s bed long ago, but it did still house his armor.

Din followed orders, shaking his head as he did so. After a few minutes he called from the bedroom. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Which was partially the truth. Of course he wanted to surprise Din with this. He also wasn’t 100% sure their destination would be the right one. His contact seemed trustworthy enough, but that didn’t mean his information was right. Potentially getting Din excited over nothing didn’t seem right.

Din grumbled in response, emerging from the room covered head to toe in Beskar, looking more like the warrior Mayfeld had first met rather than the big softie he had come to know. It still made his heart race, and he couldn’t help but think of sex with the armor on. Or at least the helmet. Someday. Not today. Right now they had more important things to do.

Mayfeld ushered them to Din’s junky ship, frowning at the tight fit. Two seats, a sleeping area, and a small bathroom. It was certainly nowhere near as good as the Razor Crest had been. Still, Din seemed right at home behind the wheel. He stared at the coordinates Mayfeld presented him with more confusion.

“There’s nothing there.” He protested.

“I’m gunna need you to trust me on this one, Din.” It was the only excuse he could come up with. Thankfully that’s all it took, as Din began flipping switches and pulled out of port. Mayfeld sat back in his seat hoping beyond hope that he was about to make things right.


	12. The Child

The journey was shorter than Mayfeld would have liked. He was hoping for more time to prepare himself for the possibility of this being a dead end. Thankfully Din only asked once more where they were headed. When the question was ignored he seemed to get the hint that he would have to wait and see for himself. After that the man was unusually talkative, telling Mayfeld all about the things he’d done in this portion of the Galaxy. Mayfeld listened intently, wanting to absorb as much of Din’s past as he could despite the odd feeling bubbling up within him.

Ahch-To was beautiful, pristine, and covered in thick green grass. Mayfeld had never seen anything quite like it. The island they arrived on seemed even more mystical when they touched down. The air was alight with a dull buzz, just barely there. Din didn’t seem to notice so Mayfeld said nothing, instead watching the man’s reaction. He looked out the windshield, taking in the rocks and hills, relaxing into the pilots chair.

“It’s lovely.” So soft, so serene. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah me either.” Mayfeld frowned, careful not to let Din see. As far as he could tell this island looked pretty empty. How was he supposed to find this Luke Skywalker guy without letting Din know? They could go on foot, the island wasn’t that big. But walking around aimlessly seemed like a waste of time. He wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting. Maybe for Luke to come to him? How often could the man really have visitors? Surely a Ship appearing out of nowhere was cause for concern, even for a great Jedi or whatever.

Mayfeld weighed his options, deciding what to do when he saw it. A man appeared at the top of a cliff, starting down a path that connected to where their ship had landed. From the distance he was blurry, though the closer he got the more clear his figure became. Shrouded in black and carrying something in his arms. After a moment Mayfeld recognized the familiar shape of big, floppy ears attached to a tiny body the man held. Grogu.

There was a soft gasp from Din, who whipped his head to look at Mayfeld before training it back on the child in the man’s arms. His gloved hands tightened momentarily on the wheel, squeezing it firmly before he was propelling himself up and toward the door. Mayfeld followed loosely behind. This was a reunion he wanted to see, but not intrude on.

The man, who Mayfeld assumed was Luke, placed the Child on the ground. Grogu ran on tiny legs, unsteady but faster than Mayfeld had expected, making a beeline straight for Din. Between Grogu’s speed and Din’s long strides they met in the middle in no time. Din dropped to one knee grabbing the child in his arms and pulling him close. Moments later the helmet was coming off and Mayfeld could have sworn he saw a head bump take place.

Slowly he made his way over, encroaching on the scene with caution. Luke gave the pair space as well, though he seemed to avert his attention more. It was a private moment, but Mayfeld’s heart swelled with joy watching it. He knew what this meant to Din. He had helped the man through many tough days and nights when losing Grogu was just too much.

When Din finally stood up he still had Grogu in his arms. Mayfeld approached them, feeling big baby eyes boring into him. He ignored it, instead focusing on Luke, who eyed the interaction suspiciously.

“We sensed you approaching.” Luke said. “He’s missed you, you know.”

Din smiled down at Grogu, looking at the Child like he had hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the Galaxy. Mayfeld ingrained the image in his mind, wishing he could capture it in a picture as well. Din had never looked so beautiful, so happy. Mayfeld huffed out a little laugh before finally focusing on the Child himself. Grogu glared at him from his place in Din’s arms. His tiny three pronged hand wrapped around Din’s thumb, holding him tightly. Mayfeld’s previous interaction with the child was fresh on his mind, turning the warm bubbly feeling in his stomach into something much more uncomfortable. He turned his head in embarrassment, focusing once again on Luke.

“I’m afraid it’s unwise to take him from his training at this point in time. But you’re more than welcome to stay and catch up.”

“Is he doing well?” Din finally tore his eyes away from Grogu, acknowledging the Jedi for the first time.

“He’s made a lot of progress. But…” Luke trailed off with a slight frown.

“But what?” The peaceful calm washed away leaving something tense in its place. Din tensed, shifting in closer to Mayfeld’s side. 

“It’s nothing, I’m sure. Do you mind if we talk in private?”

Mayfeld quirked an eyebrow, momentarily wondering why they wanted to leave him out of the conversation before realizing Luke was referring to Grogu. He sighed internally, knowing what had to be done but not being ready to do it.

“I can keep an eye on the kid for a bit.” He nodded to Din. Whatever Luke had to say must be important if he didn’t want to do it around the Child. Din nodded back, placing Grogu on the ground. He wobbled forward, reaching his arms up for Din once more in silent request to be picked back up.

“No, you stay here with Migs. Me and the nice...Jedi man need to talk.” He waggled a finger to stop Grogu from following. The Child slumped, looking from Din to Luke slowly before turning to face Mayfeld. The glare was gone, but there was still apprehension in his wide eyes.

As Din and Luke walked away speaking in hushed tones, Mayfeld looked over the Child more carefully. He had grown some, there was no doubt, though it was just an inch or two. The white fuzzies on his head seemed slightly thicker, and Mayfeld wondered if they were as soft as they looked. His clothes were new, made out of a similar black cloth as Luke’s cape, stitched into a simple onesie. A necklace hung around his neck, looking far too big for someone so small. It wasn’t a symbol Mayfeld recognized.

“Uh, hey Kid.” He said, shuffling from one foot to the other. Mayfeld had never really been big on apologies, nevermind apologizing to a child. He didn’t even know any kids besides Grogu.

Grogu ignored him, walking in the opposite direction of Din and Luke. Mayfeld followed closely behind, thinking of what to say next. Did Grogu actually understand what he was saying? From what Din had said, yes. That meant he was actively being ignored. Great.

“So, look. I wanted to apologize for you know, droppin’ you.” His mind flashed once more to that moment, making him cringe at the memory. “I was only trying to tease your Dad and Z came out of Hyperdrive too fast with no warning. I should’ve had a better grip on you. I’m sorry.”

The child slowed but kept walking. Mayfeld wasn’t even sure Grogu understood, but the tiny cold shoulder meant he did remember. They approached the shore, and for a horrible moment Mayfeld pictured Grogu being swallowed by the waves and sucked out to sea. He hurried to walk next to the child rather than follow behind. Thankfully Grogu stayed far from the water, crouching to run his fingers through the sand in search of something. After a few moments he pulled out a tiny shell, peeking inside. He raised it above his head and shook the contents into his mouth. Nothing came out.

“Hungry, huh?” Mayfeld watched the Child crouch again and begin the search anew. Din hadn’t been lying when he said the kid was a garbage disposal. Luckily Mayfeld came prepared.

He reached inside the bag slung over his back, pulling out a long tin pouch. The slight crinkle of the package had Grogu turning his way. Mayfeld remembered them from one of Din’s stories, and while Grogu liked all foods he seemed to have a special interest in these cookies. Thankfully they were easy enough to find.

“Yeah you want a cookie, don’t you?” He raised his eyebrows, offering the package up to Grogu. Tiny outstretched arms raised to meet his. For good measure Mayfeld opened the package before handing it over. Grogu pulled out a cookie, examining it slightly before taking a large bite. When his big eyes looked back up at Mayfeld they were devoid of any malice. That was progress. “Alright, we good now? Do you forgive me yet, Grogu?”

Large green ears perked up at the name. Grogu made a strange noise, staring up at him with wide eyes. Maybe Mayfeld had been right after all in assuming not many people knew the Child’s name. With another cookie halfway in his mouth Grogu looked confused, but not upset. He could work with that.

“You know, your Dad talks about you a lot. He misses you.” Mayfeld told him as if it wasn’t already obvious. Maybe it wasn’t. “But he’s really proud of you for doing your training.”

Mayfeld shuffled from one foot to the other, feeling odd. Sure he was good at holding up his side of the conversation as well as Grogu’s, but part of him felt silly for talking to a child like this. Still, baby talking Grogu didn’t feel right either. There was an intelligence behind those eyes that Mayfeld didn’t want to disrespect. He wandered over to a large rock and took a seat. After a moment Grogu followed, standing close by as he munched on his new snack.

“And now that he knows where you are I’m sure he’ll be back to see you often.” There was no doubt in Mayfeld’s head that that would be the case. It was a shame Luke said Din couldn’t take Grogu just yet. However, it was probably for the best and he didn’t want to get involved in things he didn’t understand.

Grogu made a gurgle of approval, he assumed, and continued munching away. He watched as Grogu wandered by his feet, making little tracks in the sand. Three pronged feet similar to his strange hands. What an odd creature. But if Din loved him so much then he couldn’t be all that bad. He was cute at the very least, in an odd kind of ugly way.

“Does he feed you enough?” Mayfeld finally asked once Grogu had downed several more cookies. “I’ll make sure Din brings you some snacks next time. Seeing you today was kind of a surprise for him. You’re not that easy to find.”

Grogu paused, looking at him intently for a long while. Then he slowly reached into the bag to pull out another macaroon, presenting it to Mayfeld.

“What? For me?” He smiled, unable to help himself. Ok so maybe Grogu was cute in a cute way, not in an ugly one after all. The Child took another tiny step forward, offering the cookie again. Mayfeld took it from him, taking a tiny bite. “Hey, these are pretty good, Grogu. Thanks.”

Giant ears perked up at the name once again. Then Grogu was turning away, looking at the figure standing off to the side. Mayfeld wasn’t sure how long Din had been watching them, but he felt himself blush, trying to think back on what he said. Hopefully nothing too bad, but the look on Din’s face didn’t have him too worried about it. Soft brown eyes, a beautiful smile. Din looked happier than Mayfeld had ever seen him. 

Mayfeld smiled back, sliding over from his place on the rock to let Din squeeze in next to him. They watched in silence as Grogu wandered the beach, playing in the sand every so often. Din slipped off a glove, grabbing Mayfeld’s hand and interlacing their fingers. It was at that moment he confirmed the suspicion that had been growing him for some time. Mayfeld was totally, utterly in love. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Din’s hand, content with the soft squeeze he received in return.


	13. The Blame

Loving Din came naturally to Mayfeld, which surprised him considering he’d never been in love before. Not like this at least. There had been a select few people that he could have loved, if he was willing to put in just a little more effort. Mayfeld hadn’t been ready for that then. But now? Well, loving Din was easy. It was everything else that was hard. Like leaving Grogu. He could see the pain in Din’s eyes despite the brave face he plastered on. Light tears welled in those big brown eyes as Grogu clung to Din’s leg, unwilling to let him go so soon. Their time together hadn’t been enough. How could it be? He knew it tore both of them to bits having to part so soon and the only thing he could do was watch on with an ache in his chest.

Mayfeld rubbed a hand across Grogu’s peach fuzz head, mumbling a goodbye. Then he left Din and Grogu to themselves for a while. Neither wanted to part, but it was necessary, and he wouldn’t intrude on their moment. It wasn’t wise for Grogu to have distractions from his training for so long, and Din had matters to attend to as well. Of course he wouldn’t tell Mayfeld what those matters were, but there was a little cube that began to blink, carrying a message that Din refused to look at. In fact Mayfeld was sure Din would have ignored it forever had Luke not mildly suggested that it was time for Grogu to go back to his training.

Din made it to the ship and out of orbit before he broke down. He flipped the autopilot on, turning his chair sideways to face Mayfeld, who followed suit. It wasn’t super comfortable considering the confines of the ship, but Din managed to lean forward enough to meet Mayfeld halfway. He pulled the younger man into a hug of sorts, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Din nestled his face into Mayfeld’s neck, warm tears flowing. There was nothing for him to do except slowly rub Din’s back and feel his own heart break just a little more.

He wished they were anywhere but there. A bed, a bigger chair, even standing up so he could get a better grip on Din and hold him more fully. But for now this would do. He stroked small circles along broad shoulders, struggling to find the right words to say. There were none.

“You’ll be back.” Was what he settled on finally. It wasn’t a lie, and it was the only comforting thing he could manage.

“I know.” Din said quietly.

“It can be soon, too. You won’t have to wait as long as you did this time.” Also true. They had mildly discussed it with Luke. Seeing Din had wonderful effects on Grogu. They just needed to work out a good balance.

“I know.” Din repeated.

“And he won’t have to stay there forever. He’ll be back with you before you know it.” Hopefully. He wasn’t sure how long Grogu would need to train for. Was it a set time? Or just whenever he’s ready? “Luke said he was doin’ good, right?”

Din tensed, breathing in deeply. Mayfeld flashed back to the private conversation Luke and Din had while he watched Grogu. Maybe the Kid wasn’t doing as good as he thought?

“It’s complicated.” Din said after a moment.

“Always is, isn’t it?” Mayfeld replied, gently running a hand through Din’s hair. Soft brown curls bounced and while Din thought it was time for a haircut, Mayfeld liked it just the way it was. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” The man in his arms sighed softly before continuing. “He said Grogu is showing… signs.”

“Signs? Of what?”

“An aptitude for the dark side?” It was a question, but a bad one. “I still don’t really understand.”

“The dark side? Really? That little green bean?” Mayfeld’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. As a sharpshooter he tried his best to know as little as possible. Still, everyone knew who Vader was and what he could do. The idea that Grogu could be showing an ‘aptitude for the dark side’ seemed about as foreign as anything could be.

“I guess. Luke says it’s a… struggle. That all Jedi face it. But Grogu… he gives into temptation. He has rage and passion that he can’t always control.”

“That’s…” Bad. Confusing. Worrisome. Not something Mayfeld had a pre approved response for.

“It’s my fault.” Din had long stopped crying, but still choked on the words. 

“What? How?” Mayfeld frowned, staring a hole into the top of Din’s head. He didn’t need to look the man in the face to know there was nothing short of despair in his eyes.

“His attachment to me makes him vulnerable. And his time spent with me was full of violence. I’m…. I’m bad for him.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Mayfeld pulled Din from his chest in order to look at him. Puffy red eyes, drying tear stained cheeks, and the most heart broken man in the world. The sight broke Mayfeld’s heart.

“Listen to me, Din. Someone rescued him from a Temple after his people were slaughtered in front of him. You found him with a bunch of thugs, filthy and alone. Maybe you weren’t perfect, but no one asked you to be. Being a Parent is hard. But take you from the equation and the violence and the trauma is still there, but the love, that’s gone.”

Din stared into his eyes for a long time, thinking. Finally he nodded, grabbing a hold of Mayfeld’s hand. Fingers interlaced he gave a squeeze, which was returned gently.

“I guess. But...I still feel partially to blame.” The man admitted, looking down.

“I know. I wish you wouldn’t.” It was natural for a parent to wonder if they were at fault for the bad things in their child’s life. Mayfeld knew he couldn’t fully get rid of that worry, but some of the tension in Din’s body did dissipate. He’d take the win where he could, no matter how small.

“I know.” A small smile. Mayfeld’s heart fluttered at the sight.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offered. Even the tiniest task was worth helping Din with if it would ease his mind about Grogu.

“With this? No.”

“With something else?” Mayfeld wiggled his eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood. He winked and Din laughed.

“Maybe later.” The smile widened and Din seemed lighter, even if only slightly. He was glad to help the man get something off his chest, even if they hadn’t come up with a solution. Because what could be done? Not much. Not on their end at least.

“Noted. Fine, what do you need help with, Din?” He brought their interlocked hands up to his mouth, idly placing a gentle kiss to back of Din’s hand, wishing he wasn't wearing the glove. Din smiled again, brown eyes looking at him curiously. It was a display of affection Mayfeld hadn’t meant to do, but couldn’t regret with the happiness that radiated off of Din.

“Are you up for a trip?” Din asked after a moment, fishing out the small blinking box from his pocket.

“Absolutely.” His heart fluttered with excitement. Was Din finally offering to let him in on the other half of his life? Was he finally going to learn what Din did when they weren’t together? “Where are we going?”

“I think it would be easier to show you.” Thick eyebrows knitted together as he thought it over. Fine. Mayfeld could live without an answer for know. He’d know everything soon enough.


	14. The Offer

Showing Mayfeld wasn’t easier, as the longer he looked at the scene, the more confused he became. His eyes drifted from face to face, and surprisingly enough he could actually see faces. Mandalorian's everywhere, some with helmets, some without. Din had said there were “other Way’s” to live than just the one he had been taught. Still, Mayfeld wished some of them would put the helmets back on. All those eyes on him had Mayfeld sweating and fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. Din on the other hand stood unwavering, but slumped as more and more people flocked to him with questions and complaints.

It was a slow revelation, and Mayfeld wasn’t sure why, but finally he realized these people were coming to Din as if he was in charge. The pieces clicked into place slowly, too slowly if he was being honest. A royal guard. A throne. A court. Rules and regulations.

“Are you a … King or something?” Mayfeld leaned in closely, whispering it into Din’s sound receptor the second the attention was off the two of them. Din was one of the few Mandalorian’s who wouldn’t take off his helmet, leaving his reaction unreadable. Mayfeld gave Din a once over, noting the only difference now was the silver handle attached to a string dangling from his waist. A saber of some sort, kind of like the one Luke had worn. Someone passed it to him the second he walked through those giant metal doors.

“Or something.” Din replied softly. The boredom in his voice and his stance stood in stark contrast to whatever Mayfeld was feeling now. Excitement? Confusion? Wonder? He wasn’t sure, but he and Din had to have a conversation soon. Questions bubbled up inside him, threatening to spill over.

Mayfeld was able to piece together bits and pieces. Whatever title Din had was fully unwanted. An advisor of sorts, a fiery stuck up red head in blue complained about Din’s increasing absence. From the sounds of it, the argument was an old one. She shot dirty looks Mayfeld’s way, silently accusing him of something. Though her venomous eyes darted to many people, so perhaps that was just her nature.

After a time Din dismissed the tiny group of people that caught him on the way into the Palace. He agreed to a scheduled meeting before gripping Mayfeld’s shirtsleeve and pulling him down a corridor. They passed door after door, going deeper down twisting hallways. Mayfeld followed silently, increasingly confused, but waiting patiently for their destination to let his questions explode out of him like a fountain.

Finally they came to a room separated from the others. Din pushed open the door, pulling Mayfeld inside. A large room with an enormous bed sat in the center. Intricate symbols were carved into the headboard, door, and along the large arches of the windows. Deep red curtains covered the windows, blocking the outside view. Not that Mayfeld could complain. Mandalore was nothing special to look at. Years of destruction had taken its toll, and while everything within the domed City was in fair shape, being repaired as needed, everything just outside the glass looked more brutal and deadly than ever. 

He walked to the center of the room, vaguely aware of Din closing the door behind them. Mayfeld ran a hand over the thick plus sheet covering the rounded bed. A large mass of pillows sat near the head board giving it more of a nest appearance than an actual bed. Wall ornaments lined the wall adding to the regal vibe. It certainly looked like a room fit for a King.

“So, uh, you got yourself a nice set up here, huh?” Mayfeld asked when it was clear Din wouldn’t be making the first move. The man stood by the door, looking tense.

“Most people would agree.” But not Din. The man didn’t like this arrangement but Mayfeld wasn’t sure why yet.

“When were you going to tell me you’re a… King?” It wasn’t the right word, Mayfeld knew, but it was the closest comparison he had.

“I didn’t plan on it.” Din told him, walking closer. He kept the helmet on, which was never a good sign. He was hiding his face from Mayfeld, keeping his voice cool and calculated as well. Clearly he was worried about a negative reaction, though Mayfeld hadn’t committed to that decision yet. There was a story and he’d like to hear it first. “Becoming Manda’lor isn’t something I wanted. I still don’t but…”

“Its complicated?” Mayfeld guessed.

“Always is.” Din nodded, taking a hesitant step forward. There was still a space between them that felt cavernous. Mayfeld wasn’t mad or upset in the way Din probably expected him to be. He was more confused than anything. “I won the darksaber in battle. By law I rule Mandalore now.”

“But you don’t want to?” It wasn’t a question. Mayfeld could see it in the younger man’s stance. Hear it in his tone. Din didn’t want this life, so why didn’t he just step down?

“No. I’m not allowed to yield the saber. I’m not allowed to step down. I’m not allowed to disperse power. Believe me I’ve tried everything. But these people… they like me.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Mayfeld rolled his eyes.

“Like what?” Din tilted his head.

“Like they don’t have a reason to. I’m sure you’re great.” He couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Din. How could they? He was absolutely amazing all around. Surely ruling a Planet was no different.

“I’m hardly around.” It was a valid argument. Din spent most of his time with Mayfeld lately. Good for Mayfeld, bad for the Mandalorians.

“Exactly. You never tell them what to do, you’re not around to punish them or pass crazy laws. You’re like, the perfect guy to be in charge.” Mayfeld broke the odd tension between them with a few steps, putting his hands on Din’s helmet. He pulled it off slowly, giving Din ample time to stop him if he needed. He didn’t.

Worried eyes locked onto his, twisting Mayfeld’s stomach in a weird sort of second hand worry. Gently placing the helmet on the bed next to them, Mayfeld pulled Din in for a kiss, feeling the tension leave the man’s body instantly. One quick peck turned into two, then a soft slow kiss, with no urgency behind it. Loving, tender, sweet. He pulled away, looking into those eyes once more, glad the worry was gone now, replaced with something much gentler.

“Stay with me.” Din said softly. Mayfeld smiled and sat back on the bed, sprawling out with his legs still dangling off the edge. It was more than big enough for the two of them, especially with the way Din clung to Mayfeld tightly at night.

“Sure. A sleepover. We love those, remember?” He laughed to himself, remembering the first time Din had spent the night. It seemed like so long ago. How different would his life be now if that had never happened? He would be a lot more miserable for sure.

“No. Stay with me.” Din said a little louder this time, though there was an odd shakiness to his voice.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Mayfeld asked, sitting up to take a good look at the other man. Thick eyebrows knitted together as Din stared back.

“You hate your home, your job, the people in town. You’re miserable back there. Stay here with me instead.”

“Oh.” A warm feeling spread from his chest through his body, making the tips of his fingers tingle. “Din-”

“I can pardon you.” Din cut him off quickly. “If you stay you’ll be a free man here. It’s not much, but no one will come for you while you’re on Mandalore.”

Mayfeld blinked, absorbing the information. He hadn’t even considered the possibility when he first learned Din was Manda’lor. He didn’t know that was something Din had jurisdiction over. “Din-”

“There’s servants, well they’re paid handsomely and treated fairly so I suppose ‘servant’ isn't the right word, but they’ll cook for you and clean. You won’t have to work. I can buy you anything your heart desires.”

“Din,” Mayfeld started again, grabbing Din’s hand to stop him from cutting him off again. “Of course. Even without all that extra stuff. I’d live in a box with you as long as we could be together.”

It was sappy, sure, but Mayfeld was feeling too warm and tingly not to say it. How could he not? Din asked him to stay. And when he thought Mayfeld might say no he even tried his hardest to convince him. The urge to confess his love was so strong Mayfeld almost gave in. Almost, but not quite. The words stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him. Instead he reached out, pulling Din in closely. The man fell onto the bed, effectively trapping Mayfeld between a layer of beskar and a thick silk blanket.

He pressed a kiss to the younger man’s mouth first, then his neck next. Light kisses and a nip had Din gasping out softly.

“So about that ‘later’ you had mentioned earlier.” Mayfeld trailed his hands down, reaching for the gaps between Din’s armor that he knew so well. “I’m thinkin’ this bed is huge and there’s a couple of new things we can try.”

Din pulled pack, reaching up to unhook his chest plate first followed by his pauldrons. He had a certain ritual in the way his armor came off. Mayfeld found it oddly attractive, and reached to undo the thigh plates. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I think it would be easier to show you.” He mirrored Din’s words from earlier that day with a wink. Din smiled before pulling him in for another kiss.


	15. The Break

Days spent on Mandalore were something Mayfeld had to get used to. Like anything new it was an adjustment, but nothing unbearable. For the first few days he slept, refusing to get out of bed for anything other than Din and food, and once it was even both at the same time. He had been working himself to the bone for so long that once he had the opportunity to relax he did. When that got boring he decided to explore. Mayfeld did his best to avoid people, though they always seemed to pop up anyways. Everyone was nice to him, but the stares and whispers didn’t stop. He wasn’t sure what they said, but he could guess. A wanted criminal. Not a Mandalorian. The Manda’lor’s whore. A mix of the three and more. The possibilities were endless, and luckily for Mayfeld it didn’t really bother him.

What did bother him was Bo-Katan, who he had run into on occasion and hated more each time. Din told him more of the story on how he accidentally stole her title, and while Mayfeld wanted to laugh at her misfortune, he couldn’t. Bo-Katan’s misfortune had ended up being Din’s as well. But it was her own fault for not letting him throw a fight that would put her in charge. Who needed pride when they could rule a planet instead?

The only other thing to do besides sleep and explore was Din. Mayfeld loved it. The more time they spent together the more Din opened up to him, trying things with embarrassed enthusiasm and a blush on his face. In fact, one of the few things they hadn’t done yet was the one thing Mayfeld didn’t try and push for. Sex. Of course it was on the table, and he would be fine giving or receiving, Mayfeld had been on both ends before. But that was a move he wanted Din to make. Ask for it, initiate it, it didn’t matter. But something about his inexperience had Mayfeld waiting for Din to make the first move. Waiting was no big deal, Din was willing to try a lot of things that kept them busy.

So when Mayfeld came back from the Courtyard, a neglected area full of overgrown foliage and wilted plants, he was surprised to see Din waiting for him. Usually around this time Din had things to do, people to talk to, all the boring stuff Mayfeld refused to get involved in. So seeing Din sitting in the middle of the bed looking all dressed up and beautiful came as a surprise, but a welcomed one. A loose, light, white set of shirt and pants covered his body. Mostly. The front of the shirt dipped low, showing off a hint of that broad, muscled chest. Bare feet poked out from under crossed legs. Ungloved hands held something tightly between them, hiding it from view, but drawing Mayfeld’s attention. Slightly wet hair began to curl in odd places as it was midway through the process of drying. Din smelled fresh and clean, his skin was smooth and flushed. So why did he look so nervous?

“Hey. Back so soon?” Mayfeld asked, sitting on the end of the bed to face the man in question. Big brown eyes watched him, and Mayfeld tried his hardest to read them. Nervous but excited? Din clearly wanted something sexual from the way he was dressed. It wasn’t often the man dressed himself up to impress, because for Mayfeld there was no reason. Din was sexy in ten layers or no layers. But the way these new clothes showed off Din’s body, the darkness in his eyes. There was something good coming and he knew it. His dick came to life, interested but not quite hard yet.

“I needed a break.” A slight frown. “It can get… stressful.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Mayfeld nodded, feeling sorry. Being Manda’lor was a lot of work. A lot of work Din didn’t want to do. But he was good at it and everyone seemed to know that except Din himself. “How can I help?”

Silence. Brown eye’s avoided his, and a blush crept across Din’s face. He squeezed the object in his hands slightly, looking down on it in silent contemplation. Finally he unfolded his hands, revealing a little bottle of lubricant. “I want you to…”

He trailed off, fidgeting his hands around the bottle. The blush deepened and Mayfeld could have laughed at how utterly embarrassed Din looked. But he wouldn’t. He knew asking for stuff like this often made Din uncomfortable, and he couldn’t fault him for that. Of course he wished Din wouldn’t be so embarrassed around him, but it was something they worked on together, slowly.

“You want me to fuck you?” Mayfeld offered, feeling his throat tighten at the words. A slow, steady rush of blood downward had him hardening slightly at the thought alone. Brown eyes flashed to his, darkening. The younger man still looked a little embarrassed, but very interested.

“If you don’t want-” Din started with a shrug only to be cut off immediately.

“Of course I want to. But only if you do, too, Din.” He clarified. Of course he wanted to fuck Din. He wanted him over every surface in the Palace, he wanted to cum balls deep inside that perfect ass, he wanted to hit that sweet spot inside of Din until the man painted his own chest white. He had given a lot of thought into fucking Din, and had been waiting patiently for the opportunity to do so.

A nod was the only reply he received. Mayfeld could see the tension in Din’s shoulders. The way he fidgeted in place. He was nervous, and that just wouldn’t do.

“First you need to relax.” Mayfeld told him. Din wouldn’t enjoy this if he didn’t relax first. And Mayfeld very much needed him to enjoy this. He grabbed the bottle from Din, placing it to the side next to a towel he hadn’t noticed until now. He laughed to himself, because Din really had thought of everything. There had been careful planning, making this a first for Mayfeld as well. He had never been with someone who had planned their first time. It was always a rushed, spur of the moment kind of thing, usually fueled by alcohol and lust.

“I am relaxed.” Din lied.

“Then relax more. If you need me to stop, I will.” He pushed Din into a laying position. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“I know.” Din pulled him in for a kiss, spreading his legs to let Mayfeld between them.

The kiss was soft and slow, full of passion. Mayfeld gave it his all, pouring as much love into it as he could. So maybe he couldn’t say it to Din yet, but he would definitely show him. He nipped at Din’s lower lip, pleasantly unsurprised at the little half moan that followed. If he were to do it again he’d receive the same reaction. It was one of the few constants in life. Like if he swiped a tongue across Din’s lip, the man would open up and let him in. They would explore each other’s mouths despite just how familiar they had become with each other, and Din would be breathless and fully hard by the end of it. So of course Mayfeld did just that, feeling the hands on his waist tighten in an attempt to pull him closer. He leaned into the pull, resting his hardening length against Din’s own.

Even through the layers of clothes it felt good. But Mayfeld didn’t move just yet. He kept kissing Din, thinking about just how red and puffy those beautiful lips would become. It never got old, and as he trailed kisses across Din’s cheek and down his neck, he snuck a peak. Din, beautiful as ever, panting lightly with his eyes shut tight, giving himself over to just feeling for a change rather than thinking. Mayfeld licked a strip up Din’s ear, gently nibbling the lobe. The man beneath him squirmed, still overly sensitive in that area despite how many times Mayfeld had done it in the past. Then, just to be extra he was whispering, “Are you relaxed yet?”

Din shivered again, gripping Mayfeld tighter and grinding his hips up for friction. Mayfeld indulged the other man, moving in time with his thrusts. Whispering always had this kind of effect on Din. He figured it was due to the man always having a filter to hear through the helmet. Something about a voice directly in Din’s ear drove him wild. Mayfeld used it to his advantage more often than not.

“Yes.” Breathless, needy. It never ceased to amaze him just how easy it was to get Din so riled up.

Instead of answering, Mayfeld reached down to slowly undo the buttons on Din’s shirt. As much as he thought about just ripping it from the man’s chest, he ultimately decided against it. He wanted to take this slow for Din. Besides the shirt did seem new and it looked amazing, ruining it so fast would be a shame. After the last button was finally free, Mayfeld trailed his kisses down Din’s collarbone, across his chest, and latched onto his left nipple. Din jumped at the contact, moaning. He flicked his tongue across the sensitive bud, licking and swirling with precision. Din arched into it, breathing heavy.

The hands on Mayfeld’s hips moved up, dipping beneath his shirt to run up his back. He smirked, moving to the other nipple, knowing if he kept this up for too long blunt fingernails would be digging into his back soon enough. He repeated the kisses, licks, and sucks, causing Din to try and increase the pace of the slow steady grind Mayfeld had built up. He pressed a hand into Din’s hip as a warning.

“Migs, please.” His voice was so soft, so quiet. Din always started out that way, too shy to make noise. The more wound up he became the more vocal he got. Another constant in life that Mayfeld loved. Still, as quiet as they were, the words made his cock throb.

“Please what?” Mayfeld replied, moving down to kiss across Din’s stomach, enjoying the smooth skin there and the way it made him jump at the contact.

“Touch me.” Din whimpered as Mayfeld gently licked just above the hem of his pants that had sunken low on his waist. He pointedly ignored the large bulge so close to his face.

“I am touching you.” He flashed Din the most innocent face he could muster, thrilled to see just how disheveled the other man had become. Thick curls mussed about, swollen red lips, dark eyes. Mayfeld pressed his crotch into the mattress, seeking friction.

“More.” And who could say no to that? Mayfeld gently nuzzled Din’s erection, placing a gentle kiss to it before freeing it from the cloth prison of pants. He pulled the pants off quickly, thankful that Din simultaneously shucked off his open shirt. Fully naked, cock straining for attention, Din looked more like a work of art than anything. A beautiful interactive masterpiece.

Hands tugged at Mayfeld’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Next came the pants, though he stopped Din from taking off his underwear. If those came off he wasn’t sure he could last long enough to make this good for Din.

He trailed his fingers over Dins stomach and thighs, lightly tracing patterns into the skin. The man squirmed beneath his touch, cock visibly twitching. Before he could beg to be touched again, Mayfeld wrapped his hand around Din’s length, stroking it firmly. He moaned, thrusting lightly into the touch. Mayfeld squeezed him firmly, increasing the pace. A dribble of precum oozed out, which he caught in an upstroke, spreading it up and down Din’s cock. Over and over he stroked him, watching the man come undone. Shakey thighs, an uninhibited moan, hands fisting into the blanket below. Din was so close, Mayfeld knew him well enough by now. He pulled his hand away, watching Din thrust back up, seeking that contact with an adorable pout on his face. The look melted into something more needy as he watched Mayfeld pop the cap off the tiny bottle and coat his fingers in lube.

Din spread his legs wider in silent invitation. Mayfeld briefly palmed himself through his underwear at the sight. Gently, he reached out with a finger, circling Din’s hole. The man tensed, breathing out a half moan before he relaxed into the touch. Mayfeld repeated the action, swirling around with his finger, slightly pushing in every now and then. Slowly his finger entered with little resistance. Din was so warm and tight around him, he could only imagine that feeling around his dick.

The slow push in and out had the younger man knitting his eyebrows together, mouth hung slightly open. Before Mayfeld could ask if he was alright Din let out a moan, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to bury it in the pillows. That’s exactly why Mayfeld didn’t have the man on his hands and knees. It might be an easier position, especially for Din’s first time, but Mayfeld wanted to see him, to hear him. He knew Din would take the opportunity to hide his pleasure if given the chance. And maybe next time Mayfeld would bend the man over and plow into him fast and rough. But for now he wanted nothing more than to see Din come undone under his touch.

Slowly he worked the man open, adding a second finger after a time. Din groaned, cock dribbling again. Mayfeld resisted the urge to lean forward and lick it up, knowing if he did that this would be over far too soon. Instead he swiped it up with a finger, using it to slightly slick Din’s cock as he ghosted his hand over it. The light jerking motion of one hand mixed with the slow and steady finger fucking of the other had Din moaning loudly, tugging at the bed sheets.

Mayfeld’s dick twitched and throbbed, begging to be touched. Instead he added a third finger, working Din open at a slightly faster pace. Still slow and steady, but the urge to bury himself inside that tight hole was getting harder to ignore. Especially with all the gasps and groans Din made. He angled his fingers, searching for that little bundle of nerves within Din that would have the man writing beneath him. Mayfeld knew he hit his mark with precision when big brown eyes opened in confusion as Din practically jumped off the bed. Mayfeld rubbed against it again and Din was moaning like a whore, making Mayfeld’s cock leak at the sound. The wet spot growing on the front of his underwear had him itching to take them off and sheath himself fully inside Din.

“Migs.” The man gasped out the name, setting Mayfeld’s body on fire. 

He withdrew his fingers, idly wiping them on the towel before removing his underwear. Mayfeld squeezed a generous amount of lubricant onto his cock, knowing Din would need it. He had worked him open thoroughly, but the man was still so tight. That thought alone had him tingling in all the right ways.

Brown eyes locked onto his own as Mayfeld lined himself up with Din. He paused momentarily, searching those eyes for any sign of hesitation only to be met with lust and need. Mayfeld slowly pushed in, feeling the tight heat engulf him like nothing before. He closed his eyes, using all his energy to focus on going slow rather than impaling Din on his cock all in one go. So tight, so warm, so kriffing good. Fuck. After an eternity Mayfeld bottomed out, snapping back to reality with the harsh intake of breath coming from below him.

He opened his eyes, taking in Din’s appearance. Eyebrows knitted together in pain, a slight frown, heavy breathing. Mayfeld paused, giving the man a few seconds to adjust. “Do you wanna stop?”

“No…. Just need a minute.” Din huffed out, resting his hands on Mayfeld’s back, pulling him in closer. Mayfeld used the opportunity to press kisses to Din’s face, peppering them across his cheek bones and along his jaw. He sucked at the soft lobe of Din’s ear, pleased at the noise it drew from those beautiful pink lips.

“Move.” Din told him after a time. Mayfeld snatched his lips into a kiss as he complied. A slow pull out had Din moaning. On the thrust back in the man below him gasped, opening his mouth enough for Mayfeld to slide his tongue inside. Slow, slow, slow. The slow flick of their tongues, the slow thrust of his hips, the slow pace of his cock plunging into Din repeatedly. Mayfeld had never done it like this before. This wasn’t sex. This was making love. The swelling feeling of love in his chest was nearly drowned out by the insurmountable pleasure building up in his groin. Almost but not quite.

He broke the kiss, softly bumping their foreheads together before resting his cheek against Din’s. Hot, wet tears rubbed against his face, shocking him into halting mid thrust. He opened his eyes, looking down in confusion at Din. Tears stained his cheeks, few in number but there nonetheless.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you ok? Do you need to stop?” A bubble of panic welled in his chest, breaking through the haze of pure desire that had overcome him. Had he hurt Din? With all the gasps and moans he hadn’t thought so. Maybe he was wrong?

“No.” Din reached a hand up, cupping Mayfeld’s face. He brushed a thumb across his cheek, catching on the beard that had gone just a little too long without shaving. Dark, lust filled brown eyes pulled him back in like a magnet. “You just feel so good.”

Din pulled him in for another kiss, moaning into his mouth as Mayfeld moved inside him again. He angled his hips, searching again for that spot inside Din that would have him cumming hard. He hit it hard, causing blunt fingernails to drag down his back, adding a hint of pain to the pleasure that had Mayfeld groaning into Din’s mouth as well. He reached up for the hand that was cupping his face, interlocking their fingers and pulling their hands over Din’s head. A reassuring squeeze met his own.

Mayfeld broke the kiss, burying his face in Din’s neck. He drove his cock in harder, hitting Din’s prostate with each thrust. Each moan pushed him closer to the edge, driving him into that overwhelming tightness deeper and harder. Din squeezed their entwined hands tighter, tensing all over. He came with a breathy moan, sending hot cum spurting between the two of them. The tightening walls pulsing around Mayfeld’s dick had him following closely behind, burying himself fully inside Din as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

Boneless, weightless, and utterly in love, Mayfeld flopped his entire weight down onto the man below him. Din huffed out at the sudden movement, but didn’t complain. He wiggled his hands free in order to wrap them around Mayfeld’s body, pulling him into a tight hug. Despite the thin layer of sweat clinging to their skin and his softening cock slowly slipping out of Din, Mayfeld had never been more comfortable. He was sure that’s where he was meant to be for the rest of forever.

“How was that for a break? Good enough?” He mumbled, finally rolling off of Din. The man followed him, curling himself into the crook of Mayfeld’s arm like he was meant to be there. As far as Mayfeld was concerned, he was.

“Yes. Very effective.” Din said, reaching for the towel. Mayfeld was thankful. He was so blissed out that cleaning up was the last thing on his mind. Still, it was better to do it now than later. “In fact, I think I’ll be taking breaks more often.”

“Is that right?” Mayfeld pressed a kiss to the top of Din’s head, smiling when the man curled tighter into his side. Life doesn’t get much better than that.


	16. The Whisper

Life did get better. It got so much better, and with his face pressed into the mattress and a tongue buried in his ass, Mayfeld was finally beginning to realize just how good things could get. He moaned loudly as Din reached around to jerk him off in time to the way that perfect tongue explored him. 

“Kriff.” Mayfeld swore, fisting his hands into the sheets in an attempt to ground himself in reality. Because the things Din could do with his tongue? Well that was out of this world.

When Mayfeld made the offer to bottom he hadn’t expected it to be this good. But Din surprised him yet again with expert precision. When he first introduced Din to rimming he hadn’t expected the man to take to it so fast. Yet here he was, sending waves of pleasure through Mayfeld’s body over and over again. He learned fast and well, always eager to impress.

The tongue left him, with a gentle lick farewell, only to be replaced with a finger. It slipped in easily from Din’s previous ministrations. The sensation wasn’t unfamiliar, but it had been quite a while. Din gasped at the sensation, and Mayfeld could only imagine what was going through his head at that moment. He fucked into him without hesitation and Mayfeld groaned in response. So good despite the inexperienced. After a time a second finger entered him with a dull burn. The fingers stretched him, scissoring him open roughly. Mayfeld pushed back into the touch, moaning loudly as Din brushed up against that special spot inside him that had him seeing stars.

“Din.” He moaned the name, unafraid of who heard. The Manda’lor’s room was fairly secluded. If anyone was walking past it was their own fault. By now the whole Palace should know just how vocal the two of them could get. If the increasingly disgusted looks from Bo-Katan were anything to go by, the Mandalorians knew well.

Din stroked him faster, adding a third finger inside of him. The pain was masked by the way that hand twisted around his cock with precision. Sharp teeth nipped at the top of Mayfeld’s ass, making him jump in pain and pleasure. The fingers spread him wider, hitting that spot just right each time. His toes curled as he buried his face deeper into the blanket mound.

“Just fuck me.” He begged, hearing the neediness in his own voice. Normally Mayfeld would be embarrassed, but the only thing on his mind at that moment was the thought of Din’s cock in his ass. Thicker than his own, but not quite as long. Mayfeld knew it would hurt going in, but that didn’t stop him from begging regardless. He was prepped enough, he couldn’t wait any longer. “I need you inside of me.”

Din’s fingers left, making him feel so empty that he groaned in discontent despite knowing what would come next. The emptiness didn’t last long as the thick head of Din’s cock lined up with his hole, pushing in slowly. Firm hands held his hips in place as Din pushed in, splitting him open in the best way.

Slowly Din entered him, stretching him with an uncomfortable burn that had Mayfeld biting the back of his own hand to stay quiet. After an eternity Din bottomed out with a grunt. He paused allowing Mayfeld to adjust to the feeling. Mayfeld didn’t need to adjust, he needed to be fucked. He pushed back, urging the man inside him to move. The sooner that happened, the sooner the burn would go away. Din complied with a rough thrust, knocking the moan right from Mayfeld’s lips.

Din pushed into him again, moaning at the feeling. Hands traveled from Mayfeld’s waist to his ass, rubbing over the globes with light touches. He squeezed the flesh there before latching back onto Mayfeld’s hips. He used the leverage to thrust in harder and faster, knocking the wind from Mayfeld’s lungs.

Din plowed into him, sending a warm coil straight to Mayfeld’s groin. It felt so good, so toe-curlingly amazing that he had a hard time believing it was Din’s first time fucking anyone at all. Mayfeld had offered to bottom in order to spice things up between them. If he had known Din would fuck him this good, he would have suggested it a long time ago. He knew he would be suggesting it again soon in the near future.

“Kriff!” Mayfeld exclaimed again as Din slammed into his prostate. Over and over Din slammed into him, rough and fast. The tight grip on his hips would bruise in the morning, but he could care less. All that mattered now was getting fucked into the mattress.

He reached down, grabbing his aching cock with one hand, jerking it in time to Din’s thrusts. Din moaned, grunting slightly as he slammed into Mayfeld. Gasps and groans and all of Din’s usual beautiful noises had Mayfeld edging closer and closer to orgasm. It was a mixture of so good and too much. He wanted to ride the feeling forever. His orgasm hit him roughly, knocking the breath out of him with a groan. He pumped his hand along his shaft, milking the cum from his cock, coating his hand and the sheets below them. Din continued to fuck into him, movements growing sloppier with each thrust. Overstimulated and overwhelmed, Mayfeld practically saw stars. Din buried himself fully, cumming deep within Mayfeld with an uninhibited moan.

Din’s body folded in on itself, wrapping around Mayfeld like a sweaty, sticky blanket. Hot and sticky and uncomfortable, there was no place he would rather be more than right there. Soft kisses trailed between his shoulder blades, tickling him into twitching around Din’s softening cock still sheathed within him. Mayfeld groaned in response.

“How was that?” Din asked, sounding oddly unsure for someone who had just fucked Mayfeld into oblivion.

“Amazing. But I think I might need a second round of that for comparison purposes, you know?” He laughed to himself, already knowing he couldn’t keep up if Din agreed to it. Maybe if he was twenty years younger. But now? All the energy had been drained from his body through his cock with that orgasm. What he really needed now was a nap. 

“I...I might need a minute.” Din laughed in a way that let Mayfeld know he was equally as spent from their little fuck fest.

He let his knees give out beneath him, forcing the two of them into a laying position, Din’s entire weight on his back, cock still inside him. It was a comforting weight. A blanket of warmth and comfort that Mayfeld found himself seeking out more and more lately. Din complied, rolling halfway off, but entangling their legs instead. A decent compromise that would allow Mayfeld to breath easily. To an outsider it may seem uncomfortable. To Mayfeld it was the best position in the world.

A hand came up, stroking lightly across his back. Between the weight and the warmth and the soothing patterns dancing hesitantly across his skin, Mayfeld found himself drifting off fast. Gentle kisses to his shoulder caught his attention just barely as things went hazy, and he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality as a barely audible “I love you” was mumbled into his skin.


End file.
